Andromeda Zænidh: From a Slytherin Point of View
by Libbydia
Summary: Andromeda is just your average pureblood witch...smart, pretty, and attending Hogwarts. But her life is nothing like Harry's! PG for mild violence and language, the HP kind Please read!!
1. Chapter One: Impatience

Title- "Andromeda Zænidh: From a Slytherin Point of View" (formerly, From a _Certain_ Point of View).

Author- Libbydia. Also, lots of thanks to WildMage42 for letting me borrow characters, and being my beta reader!

Main Character- Andromeda Zænidh, a pureblood witch starting her first year at Hogwarts. Brown eyes, long brown hair, a bit vertically challenged, but very pretty all the same.

Summary- well, read the title! Anyone who can write a better summary will be awarded something cool...a cameo, if you like.

Rated- PG for mild violence and language, the Harry Potter type. Nothing that will make you gouge your eyes out.

Please read and review...I accept suggestions, criticism, praise, and whatever else you can fit into that little text box. I don't suppose chocolate fits? ^^ Well, here's the story...

Chapter One: Impatience

"Andromeda!" my mother yelled from downstairs. "Put on some shoes! I'm going to the grocery store, and you're coming with me!" Lazily dangling my feet out of the hammock, I wondered why my mother needed help in buying food. "I mean it! Get down here right now, young lady, or I swear on my wand I'll..."

"Yes, ma'am," I interrupted, jumping out of my hammock and snatching a pair of sandals off the floor, not anxious to know what she would do when it came to swearing on her wand.

Hopping across the rose-colored tile floor and bounding down the elegant, curved staircase, all while trying to put on my sandals, I groaned inwardly at this turn of events. Why did she have to make me leave the house _now_, when Hogwarts letters would surely be arriving within the day? It wasn't that I was worried about whether or not I would be accepted...more like, sick of waiting. Once I got the letter, the future would be sealed for me; I would become a remarkable witch, like my mother before me, and her mother before her. My father and grandfather were remarkable also, but of course, they were wizards, not witches. In fact, almost everyone in my extended family possessed the gift of magic.

Curiously, the Zænidh family didn't have a specific House at Hogwarts. While my mother had graduated from Ravenclaw, my father had been a studious Hufflepuff. Various aunts, uncles, and cousins belonged to any of the four houses; but, any immediate family that had a Gryffindor or a Slytherin would have _only_ the former or _only_ the latter. "Well," I thought, "at least it keeps things interesting, not knowing the House you'll be in; not like that Weasley family...Gryffindors, every last one!" Having grown up with a gold Galleon in each fist, I pitied anyone who didn't know how to make money and keep it.

"Well?" asked my mother, tapping her foot and tucking strands of long, dark brown hair out of her face, "Are we ready to leave?" I straightened from tying my sandals, and pushed my thin-framed glasses back up my nose.

"Of course. Although I wish we could take Floo-Powder. Waiting in Muggle traffic is so dull." The look on her face told me to retract this statement. I quickly added, "But I know we can't because it's not safe to just appear in Muggle buildings all covered in soot, because someone would think it was a bit odd, and sometimes Memory charms don't work." She smiled, glad that I had been listening to her many lectures about keeping the wizarding world a secret from those who would be afraid of it.

"All right then, get in the car. I have a long list of things we need to buy, and I don't intend to leave the store without every last one."

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, except Andromeda, her family **(note: Zænidh is pronounced ZEE-nith, as in "zenith")**. And I don't own any of the places except her house, and I don't own any of the poems, songs, specific quotes and events, etc. Basically, if you can find it in Rowling's book, I will admit to not owning it. Any disclaimer updates will be separately listed at the end of each chapter. Also don't own the phrase "From a certain point of view," (the former title), because Obi Wan said it to Luke in the original Star Wars movies, which I do not own, except on video cassette. I just thought it applied to my story nicely. Enjoy.


	2. Chapter Two: The Letter

Chapter Two: The Letter

When Mother and I finally returned home from the excruciatingly long shopping experience, I headed straight for my room to see if any mail had arrived. I knew that Hogwarts owls were famous for delivering an acceptance letter no matter where the recipient was, but I didn't think that the "no matter where" list included Muggle grocery stores. Just a hunch.

After searching my room extensively, I decided that no owl had arrived. I flopped dejectedly into my hammock and waited. Just as I had resolved that simply waiting was a dumb idea, a spotted grey owl fluttered in the window and dropped a letter into my hands. A circle of red wax sealed the envelope. The front read:

Ms. A. Zænidh

The Hammock, Tower Bedroom

5465 Sycamore Dr.

Glade Grove

Surrey

Here it was! I savored every word on the envelope before carefully breaking the wax seal. The letter inside made my heart leap with joy; I took as long as possible to read the emerald writing:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL 

__

of WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

__

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Zænidh,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

__

Deputy Headmistress

After a short pause of silent happiness, I grabbed the waiting owl, who was not at all pleased by this, and sprinted down the hallway, skidding to a halt at the staircase, where I leapt onto the banister and slid down.

"Whoa! Careful, Andromeda!" my father shouted when I nearly knocked him over at the bottom of the stairs. "What's all the excitement? You look like you just won the World Quidditch Cup for England! Calm down and speak slowly."

Realizing that I must have appeared quite comical, I stopped to straighten my shirt, fix my hair, and return my facial features to a normal position. "Father, I have received my Letter of Acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I respectfully implore you to sent an owl in reply, confirming my plans to attend the said school. And may I add that Diagon Alley deserves a visit?"

Astounded by my formal answer, Father nodded wordlessly and took the owl and quill I held out to him. "Yes, I think I can take care of the former. But as for Diagon Alley, talk to your mother. I never did like crowds." With a bemused smile, he retreated to the den, mumbling to himself, "She likes it now...just wait until exam week. Better yet, wait until History of Magic class..."

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: Only own the Zænidh family, the address on the envelope, the house, and original dialogue and events.


	3. Chapter Three: Planning

Chapter Three: Planning

"There it is!" I said in a quiet, but very excited voice. "The Leaky Cauldron! Over there! See?"

Mother smiled patiently. "Yes. I _know_. I've been here before. At _least_ a few times. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah," I answered distractedly as we entered the pub, already scanning the patron's faces for anyone who looked like he or she might be a professor. One very nervous-looking man brightened upon seeing me. Excusing himself from his conversation with the bartender ("N-n-no, I'd r-rather hear ab-b-bout your p-p-p-p-pet t-tarantula l-later..."), he crossed the room and greeted me.

"I s-see that w-we have a Hogw-w-warts st-student here. Hm?" He smiled weakly, wringing his hands.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" I asked confusedly.

He pointed to my hand, which was holding the letter. "Th-that!" he exclaimed triumphantly. I laughed, having forgotten that any witch or wizard in England would be able to deduce that I was a student simply by seeing the envelope.

"Good point, sir!" Then I remembered that it would be polite to introduce myself. "I'm Andromeda Zænidh, and this is my mother."

"P-p-professor Quirrell, miss, m-ma'am," the man replied. "I'm the D-Defense Against the D-D-D-Dark Arts M-Master. Y-you'll b-b-be in my c-class you know! T-terrible stuff, the D-Darks Arts..." Professor Quirrell winced each time he said "Dark Arts." I suspected that many students would make fun of him.

"Well, good afternoon, and I'll see you at Hogwarts!" I finished, as Mother dragged me out of the pub by the arm. Tapping the bricks on a solid wall in a certain order, she opened the doorway to Diagon Alley.

Although I had visited the wizard shopping center several times, thanks to my two older sisters, the sights and sounds never ceased to amaze me. Everywhere I turned, magical folk (and even a handful of Muggles) bustled about in brightly colored clothing, gathering the items they needed. Most were stocking up on supplies for the year at Hogwarts, although an unfortunate few had been caught in the throngs while going about their normal business.

"First," I informed Mother, "you should go to Lincoln Books. The service there is so much better than at Flourish and Blotts, and it'll be less crowded. Then if you could pick up my telescope, scales, etc., I'll meet you at Eeylops Owl Emporium (you _know_ I want an owl, Mother, they're so useful!). I should be done fitting for my robes by then. Afterwards, we can get my wand at Ollivanders, and I'll be all set for the year."

Mother smiled in disbelief. "Your sisters were never this organized! They just ran around from store to store, doubling back to shops they'd forgotten, and losing each other in the crowd. If Gem and Libra hadn't gone to India after graduating, I think they would be here with you, like they were students again! You're taking all the fun out of it."

"No way," I said, in complete sincerity. "My system is faster." Mother rolled her eyes, but still smiled.

"Then I'll meet you at Eeylops, according to your plan, sweetie. Here, this should be enough for any clothes you want. Have fun," she advised, handing me a small bag of Galleons and Sickles.

At Madam Malkin's, I _did_ have fun buying robes. Before checking out with my black work robes, hat, and winter cloak, I tried on every color and style of garment I could find. I finally settled on a beautiful honey-colored robe with gold decorations; a bottle-green light cloak embroidered in copper; scarves, ties, and hats of various colors and designs; and an extra pair of tall, practical, leather boots. I had to have _something_ to wear in my time off from classes! At the last second, I remembered I needed gloves, and picked out a steel-studded dragon-hide pair.

Paying for the lot of it and thanking Madam Malkin profusely for the wheeled trunk she had pointed out ("It's handy, it's big, and it's on sale today only!"), I rushed out of the shop just in time to see Mother approaching the Owl Emporium. I grinned at my cleverness in planning, and ran up to meet her.

We entered the shop together, and I chose a tall, dark-colored owl. Promptly, I named him Sir Dinadan, after the arrogant and excitable young noble in the Muggle musical "Camelot." (Father had taken me to several Muggle plays, movies, and other odd forms of story-telling. I suppose it's good enough for people who can't do magic.) He _did_ look a bit restless, constantly turning his head back and forth and fluffing his feathers.

Now I only needed a wand. Upon entering Ollivanders, I was greeted by an old man with shrewd, piercing eyes. "Ah!" he said, as if he knew me. Mother winked; apparently, Mr. Ollivander always seemed to know a new student's relatives, catching quite a few first-years off guard. "I remember your sisters' wands. Very good for practical spells, both of them. Although the yew was much bendier than the maple. Gryffindors, weren't they? Your sisters, I mean." I nodded, wondering if I would end up in Gryffindor like my sisters, Ravenclaw like Mother, or Hufflepuff like Father. The man continued speaking.

"I suppose _you_ want a wand, too. That would be why you came, wouldn't it?" Without waiting for a response, he pulled out a measuring tape which measured from my knee to my feet, around my head, between my knuckles...all on its own. It was a little disconcerting. Mr. Ollivander walked up and down rows of wand boxes, some of which lay covered in dust and spider webs.

"Perhaps we should try...oak and unicorn hair, fifteen and a quarter inches, with a bit of a spring to it." He removed the wand from its box and placed it in my hand. Seeing that nothing unusual happened, he pursed his lips, replaced it, and pulled another box off the shelf. So it went, through all different lengths, wood types, and cores, until one wand sparkled and fizzed at the end like a rocket. "Good, good! It's chosen you," the wandmaker exclaimed. "Teakwood and dragon heartstring, eight inches precisely. Rather stiff, but it's nice for most lasting spells. That'll be eight Galleons and two sickles."

Mother paid, and we both thanked Mr. Ollivander. Stepping out into the bright sunshine, I realized that the wand shop must have been dismally dark inside. "I remember getting my first wand," Mother commented. "And Mr. Ollivander didn't seem much younger, even then!" Laughing carelessly, I almost ran my wheeled trunk into a boy in the street.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going!"

"It's alright," he said, looking more at his supply list than me. He pushed his uncombed brown hair out of his eyes, revealing a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. Before I could think of something to say other than: "You're Harry Potter!" (which I _didn't_ say, as it seemed rather unoriginal), he had entered Madam Malkin's. Several other passersby had also noticed the famous boy, and were stopping to gawk; but I wanted to go straight home to read up on Potions and learn how to tie a tie.

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: I own the Zænidhs and Sir Dinadan, but not the _name_ Sir Dinadan. Also own the original events and dialogue. As before, if Rowling invented it, I didn't.


	4. Chapter Four: New Acquaintances

Chapter Four: New Acquaintances

The time left until term started at Hogwarts slowly diminished. On the day the train was leaving, I packed and repacked my trunks and bags, making sure _nothing_ had been left behind. Sir Dinadan hooted nervously in his cage while my cat, Felon, brandished her claws at him. ("He'll have to get over it," I thought, "because I am _not_ leaving Felon behind.") Arriving at the station and running through the post between platforms nine and ten, I found myself on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, surrounded by a throng of excited students. Some said goodbye to their families, while others gave their luggage to attendants so it could be loaded as cargo.

After getting a hug from Mother and a bit of advice from Father ("Never, _ever_ cast a spell unless you're _sure_ which way your wand is pointing!"), I climbed onto the Hogwarts Express and found an empty room. Soon after I had sat down, a pale, slim, blonde boy about my age walked in. He wore Hogwarts robes with silver and dark green trim, the Slytherin colors. His hair was slicked back neatly, and he wore a rather confident grin.

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," he said, extending his hand, which I shook. Then he took a seat across from me. "I suppose you're a first year, too. D'you know what House you'll be in?"

I shrugged and raised my eyebrows. "My family doesn't have a specific House." At the word "family," Draco leaned forward slightly.

"What family would that be?"

"The Zænidhs. I'm wizard all the way back."

Draco smiled disarmingly. "A pureblood! Well then, I bet you'd be good in Slytherin. I know _I'll_ be in Slytherin. Best House! Good professors, too. I hear Professor Snape is the only Potions Master this side of Moscow to have taken on a dragon single-handedly and won!"

I smiled and nodded approvingly, not bothering to inform him that never, in my entire genealogy, had there been a Gryffindor and a Slytherin in the same immediate family. However, I had no qualms against any of the Houses. I figured that the unflattering rumors about Slytherin were exaggerated, or based on just a few people.

As if in response to my thoughts, two such people appeared in the doorway. Their stocky frames and blank faces made them look like mindless bodyguards. I quickly banished the thought from my head; it's never a good idea to formulate a bad opinion of someone twice your size.

"What now?" asked Draco, a flash of irritation crossing his face.

"We heard that Harry Potter has just got on the train!"

Immediately, both Draco and I stood up. "Harry Potter!" he exclaimed.

"The Boy Who Lived!" I added excitedly. As a small child, I had been told more stories of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named than I could count. Remembering the Diagon Alley incident, I hoped Harry wouldn't remember me forevermore as "the girl who almost knocked me over with a wheeled trunk."

No sooner than we had both spoken, the train whistled loudly and started off with a lurch.

"Ai!" I squeaked, and fell hard onto the bench. Draco and the other two boys had managed to catch themselves against the walls; the latter two were snickering at my reaction.

Draco turned to them sharply. "Crabbe! Goyle! Shut up, you great lumps! Can't you see it's not funny?" The duo averted their eyes and mumbled an apology, stepping back out into the hallway. "Sorry about them, they're not too bright...um...what did you say your name was, again?"

I laughed softly. "I didn't say, or else I'm sure you would have remembered. Andromeda."

At this, Draco's eyes twinkled. "I see I'm not the only person at Hogwarts named for the stars!"

"Father thought it would be clever. You know, 'Zænidh,' stars, they go together." I rolled my eyes. "I have two older sisters, one named Gemini and the other named Libra. However, Father just _couldn't_ bring himself to name me 'Taurus,' so he chose 'Andromeda' instead. Mother was quite thankful."

Draco laughed cheerfully. "At least it's a _proper_ witch name, not some awful Muggle name like 'Susie Anne!'"

Presently, an elderly witch knocked on the door and entered with a giant cart full of sweets. Draco and I selected various snacks, such as pumpkin pastries, cauldron cakes, and of course, chocolate frogs. We paid for it all and bid her a good afternoon. Then Crabbe and Goyle returned. One of them was holding a toad and grinning smugly.

"Think Neville's looking for this?" he questioned.

"Yes, I _do_, although I doubt _you_ could do much thinking," Draco drawled. "Why don't you _take_ it to him?"

"Sure," grunted the other boy, and they left.

"Do _you_ know who this 'Neville' fellow is?" I asked Draco, interested.

"Of course," he replied, taken aback. "He's a Longbottom. Stuffy, dull family. On the clumsy side. Bet _he'll_ be in Hufflepuff." I agreed, thinking of my father, two aunts, and numerous cousins who seemed to fit the description.

Puzzled, he added, "For coming from a wizarding family, it doesn't seem like you know many people. You didn't even recognize the name 'Malfoy.'"

I shrugged. "I guess we don't get out much. The estate is on Muggle land," I added almost sadly.

Draco grinned. "There are some families you don't want to get mixed up with. The _wrong_ sort. I can help you there." I took the proffered hand, and we shook again.

Suddenly, a girl with bushy, long hair swung in the door. "Have you seen a toad?" she inquired. "A boy named Neville's lost one."

Draco and I exchanged a look of recognition. "Yeah," I replied, "just a minute ago. But someone is already taking it back to him." The girl breathed a sigh of relief and hurried away.

Draco suddenly started chuckling. "Nice cover; thanks!"

"What do you mean, 'nice cover?'"

The blonde boy was almost on the verge of giggling by now. "When I told Goyle to take the toad to Neville, what I _really_ meant was..._hide_ it someplace!"

At this, I, too exploded with laughter. When he had finally calmed down, Draco stood, saying, "I'm going to go meet that Potter chap. Care to come along?"

"No, thanks," I said, figuring that enough people would be bugging Harry already. "I'll meet him sooner or later."

When Draco had left, I pulled out the book _Magical Drafts and Potions_, opened it to the table of contents, and read silently:

"Chapter 1: Knowing Your Ingredients

Chapter 2: Safety When Using Cauldrons

Chapter 3: Choosing the Right Potion

Chapter 4: How to Slay a Dragon"

My eyes almost popped out upon seeing Chapter 4's title. I flipped to page 108 to read it. There, in giant blue letters, were the words: "Ha ha! Just Kidding!" Below, there was a wizard-picture of a pale, greasy-haired man alternately pointing a wand at a dragon and dodging its flames. "It must be Professor Snape!" I thought, although I knew I was jumping to conclusions.

Just then, Draco returned, looking rather put off, his cheeks tinged with pink. "That Potter is a disagreeable type. Won't shake hands, and won't talk civilly. His friend _Ron_," he growled spitefully, "laughs at my name, and has a mad beast of a rat that _bit_ Goyle's hand." He pointed at the red mark on the whining boy's hand, then noticed it was bleeding. "Go find a nurse, already!" Waving Goyle out the door, he pushed Crabbe out as well. "Make sure he doesn't _faint_ or something!"

Then he looked at me straight on. "Whatever you do, _don't_ try to befriend Potter. He's one of the _wrong_ _sort_. He'd betray you in a heartbeat!" He looked as though he might explode.

"Alright, I trust you," I said sincerely. "Here, have a chocolate frog." Draco gloomily opened the box, snatching the frog expertly in his fist and shoving it in his mouth whole. Pulling the Famous Wizard card out of the box, his face suddenly brightened. 

Swallowing the frog as quickly as possible, he shouted, "It's Salazar Slytherin, founder of Slytherin House and a _Parselmouth_! It just reminded me...I heard there's a Parselmouth girl going to be a first-year at Hogwarts, and _she's_ on the train too! Come on, we have to go meet her, I _know_ she'll be in Slytherin!"

Stashing the card in a pocket, he dashed out before I could blink. A moment later he reappeared in the doorway. "_Well?_ Aren't you coming?" Too surprised by Draco's sudden change of mood to argue with him, I stood and followed. Asking a few upper-classmen if they had seen the Parselmouth, we found her compartment.

The girl looked up nervously as Draco entered with his nose high and a swagger in his step, but relaxed a bit upon seeing me. "I see we have another Parselmouth at Hogwarts. There hasn't been one of those since the Dark Lord himself was there."

I thought to myself, "What an odd thing to say when you first meet someone!" But I guessed it was his way of breaking the ice. After all, it seemed laughably absurd, comparing a shy, blonde girl to the Dark Lord!

"I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," said the pale boy, extending his hand. The girl almost sniggered at the mention of his name, but shook his hand anyway.

"Well, I'm Chloe Simmons," replied the green-eyed girl. "Pleased to meet you, I'm sure."

"And _I_ am Andromeda Zænidh," I stated evenly. I saw the corners of her mouth pull into a slight smile. "Good day."

Walking back to our compartment, we were advised by the same bushy-haired girl that we should change into our Hogwarts robes, as we would be arriving soon. Fortunately, I was already wearing my uniform shirt and tie, and only had to put on the black robe over it. Draco excused himself to go change, muttering something about not being able to wear Slytherin colors _to_ the Sorting ceremony.

"What a peculiar young man," I thought, thinking of everything he had said throughout the train ride. "But surely more pleasant than Harry Potter."

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: I only own Andromeda, her family, Sir Dinadan, Felon, and anything else not found in the book, such as the Potions book table of contents and the 'ha ha! just kidding!', the idea that Snape slew a dragon (correct me if that _is_ in the book, but I doubted it), and any original dialogue or event. Also keep in mind that the things people say in my story are not necessarily my real opinions; for example, I don't mean to insult the name "Susie Anne." The Parselmouth, Chloe Simmons, belongs to the Fanfiction.net author Wildmage42. I am using Chloe with permission, encouragement, and guidance from Wildmage42. I have also granted Wildmage42 permission to use Andromeda Zænidh in a separate fan fic...it's on my favorite stories list; go ahead and read it!


	5. Chapter Five: Several Surprises

Chapter Five: Several Surprises

Soon, the train arrived at a station. Leaving my compartment, I heard a small "meow." Turning around quickly, I realized that Felon had been right there all along. She had been so quiet throughout the trip that I had forgotten all about her. I didn't have to worry about Sir Dinadan, as the luggage crew dealt with owls.

Picking up my cat and getting off the train, I saw the biggest, tallest, wildest-looking man...ever...waiting on the platform. He had a giant, bushy beard and long, dirty, uncombed hair. I couldn't imagine how he could live with his own stench, wearing all those filthy animal skins and carrying a (would you _believe_ it?) oil lantern. How medieval! When the giant barbarian started calling for the first years to follow him, I almost panicked. Draco didn't seem too reassured by our new guide, either.

Luckily, the boat ride across the lake proved to be wonderful. Hogwarts sat atop a hill, a sprawling castle illuminated by hundreds of lights. I gasped at its size, then noticed the same reaction in most of the other students. When the boats had docked and unloaded, we continued as a group into Hogwarts. Before passing through a large set of doors, we were stopped by a stately-looking witch.

"I am Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House and Transfigurations Master. Before you join the feast, you will be sorted into your Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin," she said. Then she looked meaningfully at Chloe Simmons, who had a snake draped around her neck. "I think we already have an idea of which House _some_ of you will be in."

The doors opened, and we entered in a line. Being that it was arranged alphabetically, I was last. A beat-up old hat sat waiting on a stool, and suddenly it burst out singing, which I thought was a bit bizarre for a hat. One by one, first years set the hat (which had now finished its song) on their head and waited for it to call out a House name. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were placed in Slytherin. Potter, Simmons, another Weasley, and the girl with bushy hair all ended up in Gryffindor. I was shocked; I thought the Parselmouth would _surely_ be in Slytherin! Finally, "Zænidh, Andromeda" was called, and I stepped up to be Sorted. Felon trailed behind me and waited at my feet as I took a seat on the stool. Professor McGonagall placed the hat on my head...and, to my surprise, I heard a very leathery voice.

"Hmm...a pureblood. No extraordinary talents, but you are quite clever. You could be great you know!...oh, what's the use of all this? Now you're going to say, 'Put me Gryffindor!' like those other two, _aren't_ you?" It seemed that no one else could hear the hat speaking.

I was startled. "Uh, only if you think it's a good idea."

"Ha!" the hat replied, "I _don't_ think it's a good idea! The ones who ask for Gryffindor, I have to place there, but the ones who don't ask don't deserve it! Right? So I have just proven that you should _not_ be in Gryffindor. Going to get very crowded someday, that House. And you _are_ a pureblood, so I think...SLYTHERIN!" This exchange lasted a fraction of a second.

I got up off the chair, shrugged, and went to sit next to Draco at the Slytherin table. He grinned cheerfully and gave me a pat on the back. Headmaster Dumbledore said a few words ("Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"), and then the feast began. Mountains of food appeared on the tables, and everyone reached for the first dish they saw. Crabbe and Goyle were starting on their third pie, Draco had helped himself to a another portion of roast beef, and I was just pouring a cup of pumpkin juice, when I suddenly realized the implications of my House placement. Me, in Slytherin? Nothing against Slytherin, but...this should _not_ have happened!

My hand jerked and I spilled half the jug of pumpkin juice across the table. Before I could say anything, a Slytherin prefect had cleaned up the mess with a swish of his wand and a few words. I stared briefly, then stood up to get away from the table. Draco grabbed my arm and pulled me back down.

"What's wrong? No one cares that you made a mess...they're not going to laugh at you or anything! If they did, they would have to deal with _me_. Sit down."

I shook my head. "I'm not hungry."

He rolled his eyes. "So? What could you _do_ if you left, anyway? Nothing! So stay here. You have to meet some of the other Slytherins. Talk to the prefects; they can tell you how to find your way around Hogwarts."

I continued to shake my head. "I have to talk to Headmaster Dumbledore. The hat put me in the wrong House." I quickly recounted the story of my family: any Zænidh could end up in any of the Houses, but there were never Slytherins and Gryffindors in the same immediate family. My sisters had been Gryffindors, so of all the Houses, Slytherin was the one I _shouldn't_ be in.

"That's trash," said Draco, when I had finished my explanation. "Anyway, Slytherin is the best House. I told you you'd make it in! All kinds of great wizards come out of Slytherin." Then his voice became more serious. "And even if you _did_ ask him, Dumbledore wouldn't do anything. No one changes your House assignment once you get Sorted. It doesn't happen! Now _sit_! D'you think I want to talk to Goyle here all evening?" Goyle glanced up stupidly at the mention of his name, then resumed eating.

I smiled and laughed weakly, then sat down and tried to think of a plausible reason for this odd twist of fate. Maybe it was just coincidence that my family had ended up with a small rift in it. The idea was not impossible.

For the second time that day, I heard a small "meow" behind me. Seeing that Felon looked very hungry, I gave her a piece of fish and a lemon tart. I hoped that whoever had prepared the feast didn't mind me sharing it with a cat.

Soon, however, dinner was over and the prefects led us up to our Houses. The entrance to Slytherin House was a door hidden in a plain, stone wall. "Listen up first years!" said a prefect. "The location of this door is to remain a secret. Also, you need a password to open it. You must _never_ tell our password to anyone outside of Slytherin. If you do, you never know what terrible fate could befall you in the night." She faked a malicious chuckle. "But if you happen across anyone _else's_ password, do be sure to tell me." Everyone laughed.

"For now," she continued, "the password is '_green machine_.' I hope you can remember that, because you'll be stuck out in the hall if you can't." With that, she opened the door and we entered the Slytherin common room.

To Be Continued...

Hey, thanks for reading; I hope you like the story so far! Here's my disclaimer: I own the Zænidh family, Felon, the current Slytherin password, and the original dialogue and events. Chloe Simmons belongs to WildMage42. Check it out if you haven't read it already!


	6. Chapter Six: Getting Settled In

Chapter Six: Getting Settled In

Soft candlelight reflected off of the polished green stone floors. Large chairs sat around the room, accompanied by several tables. Viola Trikkit, the prefect who had been speaking, pointed her wand at a fireplace and said, "Incendio!" Blue flames shot across the room, and soon a roaring fire warmed the House. Although it was still September, Slytherin House seemed more like an ice house. I noticed that there were no windows, and that we had gone down several long flights of stairs to get here, so I figured we were probably pretty far underground.

Trikkit turned to the group and raised her voice again. "All right, Slytherins, take a seat somewhere and get comfortable! I have a few announcements, and after that we can introduce the first years." Fourth and fifth years scrambled to claim the "best chairs," but they were stared down by the six and seventh years. Most of the third years and down ended up sitting on the floor. I chose a spot right next to the fireplace; Draco and a monster of a fifth year sat next to me. Felon curled up to sit on my feet.

"First," continued the prefect, "I'd like to congratulate all of the first years on making Slytherin." There was an enormous round of applause. "Second, I'd like to remind you all that Slytherin has been the victorious House for seven years running, and if anyone here wants to ruin it for us, they will find themselves on Flint's bad side." The fifth year****beside me sneered and punched a fist into his palm. He could have looked like a normal human, if it weren't for a mouthful of disgusting yellow teeth.

"Thirdly," said Trikkit, bringing forward a tall, wiry boy, "this is Bram Aurvail, another prefect." I recognized him as the one who had put right the pumpkin juice incident. Feeling my face redden, I hoped Draco would think it was just because I was sitting too close to the fire. I _certainly_ didn't want anyone thinking I had a crush on a prefect! Besides, I _didn't_...I was just embarrassed...maybe. Well, Bram was rather handsome, but he was also quite "off-limits," thank-you-very-much.

Looking up again, I noticed that several fifth years were clapping him on the back, saying things like, "Prefect, eh?" and, "Good for you!" and, "Knew you'd have real power around here some day!"

Bram's mouth pulled into a shy smile, and he said, "Yeah, I'm a prefect. Big deal. It's not so hard. I just have to tell people to stay in their House at night, and not to duel during lunch hour...stuff like that." 

Oh, he was so modest! I almost slapped myself for being so silly. _"Snap out of it, Andromeda, he's just a guy! He's not worth going to pieces over!"_ yelled my conscience. Luckily, my conscience wasn't very loud, and I continued admiring the dark-haired fifth year. Soon, Trikkit quieted the group and resumed her speech.

"Now I'm sure you want to know the first years' names," she said, then started pointing to people and calling names as fast as she could. "Here they are: Carol Adett, Millicent Bulstrode, Vincent Crabbe, Inge Fernfrond, Gregory Goyle, Troy Hatter, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Joel Shema, and Andromeda Zænidh." (I winced slightly as she said, "Zennid.") The whole "introduction" had taken approximately ten seconds.

"Lastly, everyone should go to their dormitories now and get a good night's sleep, because tomorrow we start classes. Girls follow me, boys follow Bram." With that, everyone started filing out of the common room. Draco caught me by the shoulder and looked hard at my face.

"Are you okay? Your face is all red." I raised my eyebrows, pretending not to know what he was talking about. Then he smiled. "Oh, I see what it is...you were sitting too close to the fire. Well, goodnight." I let out a sigh of relief, then turned to go to the dormitories, with Felon trailing close behind.

Once inside, I was happy to notice that all of my luggage had been placed at the foot of my bed already. Sir Dinadan hooted in surprise at the sight of my grey cat and swiveled his head left and right. Shaking my head in amusement, I took off my shoes and flopped onto my bed. Then I heard a gasp of surprise from who I thought was Inge.

"Look at the windows!" she squeaked. "We'll drown!" This served nicely to break the silence between the first year girls. The other four of us rushed to where she stood at the windowsill. Sure enough, the window seemed to be underwater. The view was mostly dark and murky, but every now and then a fish or tiny squid would swim past.

"WOW!" I said with wide eyes. "That is SO COOL!" Around me, heads nodded enthusiastically. Inge looked as if she might faint.

"But...," she whimpered, "what if the window breaks? We'll die! No one will be able to save us..."

A girl with a face like a pug interrupted sharply. "Oh, shut up! They wouldn't allow anything dangerous in Hogwarts; _especially_ not in Slytherin Dungeon. I bet it's enchanted like the ceiling in the Great Hall, so it only _looks_ that way. There's probably at least ten feet of stone between us and the lake." She spoke as if we were all stupid; but we were, nonetheless, thoroughly impressed by the windows. To make it even better, there were five of them...one for _each_ of us!

As I crawled back into my soft, feather-mattress bed, I noticed that Inge was trying to figure out a way to cover her window with a sheet. A big, tall girl with a rather square face threw a shoe at her and yelled, "Get over it! You're disgracing the name of Slytherin!" Inge shrunk away from her.

"I don't know, Millicent," interjected a redhead from across the dormitory. "Remember that Sorting hat? It was singing about achieving what you want by any means. And Inge here is certainly achieving what she wants, right?"

Millicent's eyes narrowed. "Why in Salazar's name would she want a shoe thrown at her, _Carol_?"

"Shoe? The _window_, Bulstrode! My goodness, how can you criticize _her_ when...oh, forget it...," Carol trailed off. "Well, goodnight everyone...Inge, Pansy, Andromeda..." (She allowed a long pause.) "Millicent."

Carol seemed sharp-witted enough, though Millicent didn't. Inge might not be well-suited to Slytherin. From the events of the past few minutes, I guessed that the discourteous girl with a face like a pug was Pansy. _"First impressions can be pretty accurate,"_ I thought as I drifted off to sleep. _"Hmm...that's not a very favorable take on most of my classmates...I guess we can't _all_ be as cool as I am."_

To Be Continued... 

BIG AUTHOR'S NOTE: Inge is pronounced sort of like ING-guh, only the two syllable run together; there is no pause in between. That stumped _me_ when I first saw it...

Disclaimer: Wow! I own a lot of stuff this chapter! I own the characters: Viola Trikkit, Bram Aurvail, Carol Adett, Inge Fernfrond, Troy Hatter, Joel Shema, Felon, Sir Dinadan, and the Zænidh family. The names Trikkit, Aurvail, Adett, Fernfrond, Shema, and Zænidh are of my own creation. (But if you find them elsewhere, it is a pure coincidence, I didn't mean it, and I am very sorry, so please don't sue me. However, WildMage42 is authorized to use them.) I also own the lake windows. As usual, I own any original events and dialogue, and will admit to not owning anything that can be found in Rowling's work. Please review! I accept any comments or suggestions, good or bad.


	7. Chapter Seven: Charms, Potions, and a Be...

Chapter Seven: Charms, Potions, and a Befuddled Broom

Waking very early the next morning, I dressed in my green Slytherin robes and headed up a spiral staircase to the common room. To my surprise, Viola Trikkit was already sitting in front of the fire. Holding a book in one hand and a wand in the other, she searched through the giant tome, mumbling various spells as she found them. Then, she would stop to think, and after a moment start shaking her head and flipping pages again.

I approached cautiously, and said, "Good morning, Viola." She turned quickly in her chair; obviously, she had been so engrossed in her reading that my arrival had gone unnoticed.

"Oh, it's just you," she said with relief. "You're...Pansy, right?"

I shook my head. "Andromeda. Andromeda Zænidh." The prefect nodded, looking at me carefully.

"Andromeda...Andromeda...," she said aloud, as if getting used to saying my name. "Do you go by your full name, or shorten it to 'Andy' or something? Or should I call you Zænidh?" Thankfully, she pronounced it correctly this time.

"It's 'Andromeda' between friends," I answered.

The fifth year grinned. "Well, Andromeda, nothing personal, but please don't call me Viola. It's supposed to be beautiful and all, but in my eyes, it sounds like people are comparing me to a cello! I prefer my last name." After a good laugh, I asked what she was reading.

"Oh, this...well, it's the _Standard Book of Spells: Level 6_. I'm trying to get a head start on learning these charms. They can be rather fun you know! Take this one for example: the Spelling Spell. It enchants a quill to correct your spelling errors. Problem is, you would still have to write out the entire parchment over again once it's done correcting, and it doesn't know the difference between 'night' and 'knight,' but, hey, what do you expect from a feather?"

I chuckled. "Sounds great!"

Then Trikkit's mouth twisted into a mischievous smirk. "Actually (just between us girls) I _was_ looking for a Sweetheart Charm, or an Infatuation Incantation, or even a...well, I don't know." My raised eyebrows begged her to continue. "Okay, it's like this: there's this _guy_...that I _really_ like...and he just doesn't seem to notice me. So this year, I decided to take action. Trouble is, most magic of that sort is a potion, and Love Potions are strictly banned at Hogwarts. Not that _that_ would stop me, but, y'know, being a prefect..."

I shrugged dismissively. "Well, good luck." By then, the other Slytherins had begun to gather in the common room. Draco entered, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Good morning, Andromeda. Care to accompany me to breakfast?" he asked politely.

"Sure," I replied. "But, uh, do _they_ ever talk?" I asked, referring to the two dull-looking boys on either side of him.

Draco snorted. "Oh, _them_? Nah, not much. Besides, if they _do_ talk, it's never anything worth hearing. You remember that from meeting them on the train, right?"

I remembered, but I was still puzzled. "Then why are they always around you? I mean, you must talk to them sometimes."

"I don't talk _to_ them," the blonde boy drawled. "I talk _at_ them. They're only around to 'protect' me. Mother is very concerned with my, ah, _well-being_. It's rather irritating at times. But I got used to Crabbe and Goyle here, didn't I?" Draco paused to allow them to answer. Neither said a word. In fact, not even their eyes moved.

"DIDN'T I?" Draco shouted, waving his hands inches from their noses.

"Huh! Wha?" was the only response. Draco seemed disgusted and infuriated beyond words. Fortunately, it was time to start off for the Great Hall for breakfast, which calmed him down a bit.

When we got there, Draco asked me to sit across from him. Then he presented an unusual question. "Andromeda, which of these lazy clots is uglier?" I was somewhat taken aback.

"Uh...that one?" I replied uncertainly, pointing to the...uglier...of the two.

"That's Crabbe," he stated. "He can sit next to you. That way, you don't have to look at him."

This logic seemed odd to me, but I supposed it would work. After all, Draco had been putting up with his bodyguards for who knows _how_ long, so he must have developed a decent system by now. As we were eating, the Head of Slytherin House passed out class schedules. He was a tall, imposing man with greasy black hair and an ashen face. I recognized him from the picture in my potions book, and this time I was _sure_ he was Professor Snape. Hard eyes flicked from right to left as he walked, absolutely _daring_ someone to wish him a good day.

"Ah, another Zænidh," he said slowly as he handed me a schedule. "I assume you are related to...Mark and Ira Zænidh?"

"Yes, sir, they're my cousins," I answered. "Also Slytherins, right?"

"Let us hope that you can live up to it," he enunciated crisply. Then he noticed Draco. For an instant, his eyes flashed coldly, but he smiled quickly to hide it. "And another Malfoy?" Draco grinned. "Yes, Lucius's son, at Hogwarts...you look just like him. Your father was a great man." Draco swelled with pride, but I couldn't help noticing that Professor Snape had spoken of Lucius Malfoy in the past tense. Had Draco's father passed away? I couldn't remember him mentioning anything about his father, only his mother...and I didn't want to ask about it. At the moment, I felt very thankful to have two living parents.

Professor Snape handed him, Crabbe, and Goyle their schedules, then continued on down the table. Across from me, I heard Draco groan loudly. "Double Potions with the Gryffindors! Of all the classes for them to ruin, why Potions?" I was about to say that Gryffindors weren't all that bad, when I remembered Draco's scuffle with Potter and his friend Ron. I groaned as well.

"At least Professor Snape is the teacher," I said, trying to find some good news. "I bet he doesn't like Gryffindors much...he didn't even look too friendly with the Slytherins, his own House! Maybe he'll do us a favor and take a load of points away from them."

At this, Draco brightened. "Brilliant! Snape would sooner eat his own wand than let another House beat Slytherin, from what I've heard. So maybe it won't be that bad after all...as long as Snape keeps up with his favoritism. We'll make sure he does," he added in a low voice, his grey eyes flickering.

Just then, about a hundred owls fluttered into the Great Hall, bringing the morning mail. A magnificent eagle owl swooped down over Draco, dropping an enormous parcel into his hands. "It's from home!" he said excitedly, probably because he recognized the owl. Tearing open the brown paper package at its corner, he suddenly stopped. "Wait...I bet it's a ton of sweets. And since I don't feel like sharing with the whole House..." We exchanged a conspiratorial grin.

"It can wait," I finished smoothly for him. "Now then, what class do we have first? History of Magic! Father said it was awful. I wonder why."

Soon we found out. Apparently, Professor Binns had been bored to death some years ago, and had returned as a ghost to inflict the same torture on everyone else. He didn't even bother to say good morning; as soon as we entered the room, he launched into a monotonous lecture about a goblin revolt. It was all I could do to keep from throwing my quill at him like a dart (which I suspected wouldn't have hurt him much anyway, being insubstantial).

That afternoon we had a Transfiguration lesson, in which Professor McGonagall told us about the many uses and dangers of the particular branch of magic. "You are not to Transfigure _anything_ unless I tell you to," she warned sternly. "And, no, we are not covering human Transfigurations until your fifth year." Sighs of disappointment came from around the room. Felon ducked under a table and wouldn't come out until she was _sure_ that I wouldn't turn her into a tablecloth (at least, not that day).

When the bell rang for the end of class, McGonagall took me aside. Draco waited impatiently just outside the door. "I remember your sisters, Libra and Gemini...both in Gryffindor, if I remember correctly?" I nodded, not quite sure what this was leading up to. "Wonderful students. I would just like to say...that I hope you follow in their footsteps. That is all. You may go now."

Follow in their footsteps? What was that supposed to mean? I gathered my books and marched straight out of the room, hoping she wouldn't change her mind and decide to say something else creepy. It was too similar to Professor Snape's earlier comment for my liking.

Draco thought I was in trouble. "What did she want with you? You can't have done anything to displease McGonagall _already_." I shook my head and laughed.

"No, she wasn't telling me off," I explained, then hesitated. I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell him what McGonagall _had_ said; after all, why would she bother to tell a Slytherin to follow in the path of a Gryffindor, even if they were sisters? _Especially_ if they were sisters. Draco waited for the rest of my answer.

"She was...telling me she remembered some of my relatives, from a few years ago." It _was_ true, and it seemed to satisfy Draco.

"Good!" he said firmly. "Because I'm not letting any of the teachers push me around, and you shouldn't either. Even if you get in trouble, never admit that it's your fault. That's what Father always told me," he drawled. 

I nodded, but didn't answer. His father always told him...but how long ago? At least I now knew that he wasn't sensitive about the subject, but I still wasn't too keen on bringing it up myself.

As the week passed, we attended the rest of our classes. In Charms, Carol Adett succeeded in shooting the best moon-shaped sparks out of her wand, earning ten points for Slytherin. Herbology with the Ravenclaws was a minor disaster; Troy sneezed violently while carrying a giant watering can, splashing most of its contents onto Professor Sprout. Luckily, she dried up her robes with a charm and didn't take points from Slytherin.

Astronomy class was fun, especially because I already knew most of the constellations. With a name like Andromeda Zænidh, how couldn't I? Draco made sure to point out "his" constellation to the rest of the class, as well as "mine." However, I'm not sure anyone listened, because the lesson was late at night, and more than a few Slytherins could be heard snoring. Even Felon dozed through class. In fact, the only person on the North Tower who looked to be awake was Professor Sinistra, and throughout the hour, she was constantly sipping from a giant mug of coffee.

I met Professor Quirrell once again in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Poor man...it took him nearly twenty minutes to call roll, and by the end of it, most of the class was in fits of laughter. When Draco saw that I wasn't even chuckling, he smacked Goyle and Crabbe sharply upside the head and told them to shut up, or else.

Unarguably, though, the most exciting class was Flying Lessons with Madam Hooch. The grey-haired, golden-eyed professor led the Slytherin and Gryffindor first years to a wide, empty lawn on the castle grounds. My cat took one look at the twenty broomsticks already waiting for us, and bolted back into the castle.

"Wow," I breathed, "I've never flown on a broomstick before. Father won't let me have one. Not even Mother could talk him into it, and she was a Chaser for Ravenclaw. He says they're dangerous."

Draco's grey eyes widened as if I had suddenly confessed a fear of oxygen. "Dangerous? Rubbish! I've been flying since before I could talk, and I never got hurt. Goyle on the other hand...oh, but, he's just stupid, you'll do better than him." Somehow, this gave me very little encouragement.

"Be quiet and listen up!" Madam Hooch shouted, silencing the group. "Or you might just break your neck when you try to fly. Now, then...everyone, take a place beside a broom, on it's left side. Hold your hand above it, and say 'Up!' Put some feeling into it!" I held out my hand, but decided to watch Draco before trying for myself.

"Up!" he said confidently, almost smugly. His broom jumped off the ground and into his hand, where it hovered restlessly. I noticed that Potter's and Chloe Simmons's brooms had also cooperated quiet nicely, but most of the class was having difficulties. I glanced down at my broom again.

__

"Well," I thought, _"it's not going to move on its own."_

I took a deep breath. "Up!" I commanded. The broom twitched slightly. "Up!" It rolled over. "Up!" It beat its end against the ground, as if throwing a tantrum. "UP! UP! UP! UP!" I finally shouted, each word spoken with more authority than the last. People were starting to look at me oddly. Perversely, my broom refused to move at all.

Giving up, I rolled my eyes and grumbled sarcastically, "Fine, have it your way. Down!" Immediately, the broomstick shot off the ground, nearly breaking my wrist with its speedy ascent. Apparently, it was a bit, well, backwards. Madam Hooch started laughing.

"Oh, yes, I forgot about _that_ one...the Befuddled Broom. I was going to replace it, but then I couldn't remember which one it was. Well, it's not a problem anymore, I see," the flying instructor said cheerfully. "Now, everyone, mount your brooms, and when I blow my whistle, lift slowly off the ground, hover for a moment, and touch back down again. Three, two..." But Neville had already left the ground; he looked terrified.

Madam Hooch yelled to him, "Stop! Mr. Longbottom, get back down here! Mr. Longbottom!!" Longbottom appeared to have no control whatsoever over his broom, and flew higher into the air, looking like he was about to be sick. Madam Hooch tried to help him, but he fell off of his broom in the middle of a loop-de-loop, and landed on the grass with a sickening _crunch_.

"Oh, dear," the instructor said, after helping him up, "Longbottom's broken his arm. I'm taking him to Madam Pomfrey, and if _anyone_ so much as leaves the ground while I'm away, they _will_ be expelled, faster than you can say 'Quidditch.'" Her golden eyes glared at the class, then she headed off for the castle, supporting a very faint-looking Longbottom.

Everyone started talking in hushed voices. Draco strode out onto the field and picked something up off of the ground. It was a small orb filled with white smoke. "Ha!" he said, returning to the group. "It's Longbottom's Rememberall. Perhaps if the lump had given this a squeeze, he'd have remembered not to break his fat arm. Andromeda, d'you think I should..._take it to him_?" he asked meaningfully.

Not feeling very sorry for Longbottom (after all, it must have been his own fault that he fell), I chortled and replied, "Why not? I bet he's _looking for it_."

Several Gryffindors looked uneasy, but no one said anything...no one, except for one person. Who just _had_ to speak up but Harry Potter?

To Be Continued...

stargazing aster: thanks for pointing out to me that Professor Sinistra is probably a woman. I don't think there's any conclusive evidence, but there _is_ good reasoning behind it. :^)

Disclaimer: I own Andromeda, Mark, Ira, and the other Zænidhs, Felon, Trikkit, Aurvail, Troy, the Sweetheart Charm, the Infatuation Incantation, the Spelling Spell, Adett, and all those original events and conversations. Chloe Simmons belongs to WildMage42, and is being used under the author's permission. Read "Year of the Parselmouth" for Chloe's story (which is very good, I promise). The rest of the characters, etc, belong to J. K. Rowling, blah blah blah....legal stuff....please don't sue me.


	8. Chapter Eight: Potter

Chapter Eight: Potter

"Give it here, Malfoy!" Potter shouted, brushing untidy bangs out of his eyes. Suddenly, I wondered how long it had been since he had gotten a haircut.

Draco smirked, mounting his broom. "Come and get it, then!" He was obviously joking. To everyone's surprise, Potter mounted his broom as well and took off after him. Granger seemed exceedingly displeased, probably because of her obsession with following rules.

Draco flew higher and higher, avoiding Potter easily. I supposed that Potter had never ridden a broom, having grown up with Muggles, but he seemed to have a born talent for it. "How about, in a tree?" I faintly heard Draco say, referring to a nice hiding spot for a Rememberall. My neck was starting to hurt from looking up. Suddenly, Potter lunged forward. Thinking quickly, Draco threw the Rememberall.

Then Potter went into a flat-out dive, catching the orb neatly in one hand, just feet away from the ground. I gasped; even a Quidditch player would envy that move! And Potter had never flown before...had he?

Scowling, Draco landed roughly on the field, while the Gryffindors cheered for Potter. Just then, McGonagall arrived. "Mr. Potter, come with me," she said crossly. I grinned at Draco, and knew he was thinking the same thing: Potter was going to be expelled! Obviously, she hadn't seen Draco flying, or else he would have the same punishment.

When Potter and McGonagall had left, I turned to Draco, pushing my glasses to the end to the end of my nose and imitating McGonagall's voice. "What do you think you were doing, Mr. Potter? Mr. Harry I-am-so-famous-I-can-do-anything-I-want Potter? _Trying_ to get expelled?"

He pulled a blank, confused face that actually _did_ resemble Potter's. "Oh, no, not trying to get expelled...I just wanted to impress my _girlfriend_, Simmons! There's just something about Parselmouths! Maybe it's the way they hiss and spit, but I _always_ fall for them." Chloe Simmons didn't notice our creative dramatization of the incident; she was talking excitedly to Granger.

By the time Madam Hooch returned, class was almost over. No one told her about the Rememberall incident, but the look on her face made it clear that she already knew. Before we were dismissed, she told us to call off the serial numbers on our brooms. Apparently, we would be using the same broomsticks the whole year. I looked down at my Befuddled Broom and groaned. Did it _fly_ backwards, too? Draco was also disgruntled, owing to the fact that the ancient Shooting Stars (which everyone had to use for Flying Class) could be outdone by pretty much _anything_ else available.

That evening, Draco decided to celebrate Potter's expulsion by opening his supply of sweets from home. It was after dinner, but it was still light outside, so we went for a picnic next to the lake. That is, if a meal consisting entirely of sugar can be called a picnic. Soon, the horde of desserts was considerably diminished, and sun's reddish light was finally starting to fade. Draco ordered Crabbe and Goyle to clean up, and we headed back to the castle.

* * *

That Friday, just before Potions class started, I glanced over the Famous Witch and Wizard cards I had gotten out of Chocolate Frogs I had eaten. "Hmmm...Frederick the Wise..._another_ Dumbledore...Teiresias the Blind, I've never seen that one before! He was a Greek seer (Kind of ironic, huh? A blind seer!) and he never lied," I summarized the card. "Uh, Draco?" I asked, noticing that he wasn't responding.

Actually, he looked like he was choking. Grey eyes wide, jaw slack, he nearly fell out of his chair; Goyle quickly caught him. "What's going on? Are you okay?" I said frantically, my voice just below a shriek.

Regaining his usual sitting position, Draco blinked and tried (and failed) to speak calmly. "It's...it's...Potter! He's _not_ been expelled, he's here, _he just walked in the door!_" Turning around, I saw that it was true; Potter was taking a seat, accompanied by Weasley, Granger, and Simmons.

Longbottom was proudly telling anyone who would listen, "Did you hear that Harry's going to be the youngest Seeker (_"No!"_ I thought frantically. _"It can't be true!"_)in a century?! He's playing for Gryffindor _this year_!"

"Damn!" Malfoy growled, much to the dismay of Inge, who claimed to have very delicate ears. I barely noticed...how could this have happened?! First years aren't _supposed_ to make the House teams; if they _were_, they would be allowed to bring brooms. I felt like cursing as well, but refrained; Professor Snape had just walked in the door.

He spoke slowly and forcefully. "There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I do not expect you to enjoy the exact science that is potion-making. But for the few that have the correct...disposition..." he trailed off, casting an approving look over me. "I can teach you to bewitch the mind, ensnare the senses...I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death."

Then he turned suddenly to Potter. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" he asked sharply. Potter had been writing what appeared to be a note, and looked at the professor in confusion.

"I...I don't know sir," he replied weakly. Granger, proving what an insufferable know-it-all she was, was waving her hand violently in the air. Professor Snape ignored her.

"Clearly, fame isn't everything," he growled, and continued on with class. When the bell rang, the Gryffindors jumped up to leave so quickly that Professor Snape took twenty points off Gryffindor for "reckless behavior." Draco and I exchanged grins; Potions was going to be fun this year.

* * *

Potions was the last class of the week, meaning everyone in Hogwarts could relax for two whole days. Everyone, that is, except for the students, who had so much homework, it was painful to think about. Fortunately, I finished mine by Saturday afternoon, and spent the rest of the weekend poring over a book of hexes. For me, hexes were the most fascinating form of magic; perhaps because they weren't covered in any of my classes. Not even Professor Quirrell taught us about unfriendly spells; he looked scared at the mere mention of _Expelliarmus_, perhaps the most common spell ever used in a duel.

The weeks passed quickly, during which Draco and I continued to invent and perform new versions of Potter's life, in which Potter had a blank face, Granger spoke in a squeaky voice, Weasley was a raving lunatic, and Simmons couldn't say anything without spitting. Oddly, Simmons barely noticed our antics, although the other three always shot us dirty looks. And when she _did_ notice, it was always during one of Draco's pseudo-Potter monologues, which hardly made her think that we disliked _her_.

One awful day in October, Draco and I had gone for a walk on the grounds after finishing our homework. Crabbe and Goyle trailed at a respectful distance: close enough to come to our aid if need be, and far enough that we didn't have to notice them. As the Quidditch stadium came into view from around the castle, I noticed seven tiny crimson figures darting around on broomsticks.

"Look," I said, pointing to the distant field. "It's the Gryffindor team, out practicing. I heard that Oliver Wood is working them to death this year. He wants to get the Quidditch Cup for his House...as if that will ever happen!" It was common knowledge that the Slytherin team could cream any of the other House teams without much effort.

Draco scowled. "But that Potter chap! The new Seeker," he grumbled. "Somehow, sometime..._someone_ is going to find a way to _let_ him win, just because he's The Boy Who Lived! I mean, what is so special about _that_?"

I shrugged. "Well, just because most of the world regards him as _the_ _one_ _person_ who ended the reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named...oh, you're right, nothing special there," I finished sarcastically. Draco scowled deeper, then launched into an angry tirade.

"But, it's not like he _tried_ to finish off the Dark Lord! He can't have _known_ what he was doing! Besides that, he grew up with...with savages! He knows next to nothing about the wizarding world, he's always standing up for his stupid "what's right," and none of the Professors ever let him get in trouble. It's sickening!"

I caught Draco by the shoulder before he could continue. "That's not true," I said evenly. "There's always Snape. He can see that Potter is just trying to play up his fame, and won't let him be teacher's pet. And Filch is equally nasty to everyone." Nodding, Draco agreed, but he still looked murderous.

His condition did not improve as we neared the Quidditch field. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it worsened. To his horror, and mine alike, Chloe Simmons was wearing crimson and gold robes, and defending the three goal hoops! First Potter, and now _her_...it was almost too bad to be true. To add to that, Potter was now flying a brand-new _Nimbus 2000_, the fastest, most maneuverable model in the world! Suddenly, I had an irrational desire to hex the both of them in midair. Hopefully, they would fall and hurt themselves severely enough that they would be forced to stay in the Hospital Wing for the rest of...well, seven years, to be precise.

Thankfully, I stopped myself with the thought that I would be expelled from Hogwarts if I pulled a stunt like that. Draco's grey eyes narrowed, still fixed on the Quidditch field, smoldering darkly. "When I make the House team next year, I'll be Seeker," he said, determination in his voice. "And no one, not even _Potter_, is going to beat me. Just watch."

I quickly agreed with him, but decided that he should go inside before he hurt someone. Taking his arm, I steered him forcefully through the Great Hall, down twisting hallways and changing staircases, and into the Slytherin common room. Crabbe and Goyle appeared moments later, bringing good news, for once. Apparently, Simmons was not actually _on_ the team; she was being trained as a reserve, in case any of the other players were too sick or injured to fly. Still, Draco sat in front of the fire and fumed about Potter.

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: I own Andromeda, Inge Fernfrond, and Frederick the Wise. Teiresias the Blind is a character in the ancient Greek tragedy _Antigone_, which I, of course, do not own. I also own most of the original events and dialogue, but a bit of it belongs to WildMage42. Chloe Simmons belongs to WildMage42, whose stories you should read. Anything that can be found in JKR's books or the movies, I obviously do not own. Do not sue me please. Also, this chapter is dedicated to anyone who has trouble with email attachments. 


	9. Chapter Nine: Monsters

Chapter Nine: Monsters

As October drew to an end, the wind blew colder and sharper. Flying Class became a real challenge in blustery weather, but it was still preferable to any of my other classes (mainly because Madam Hooch never assigned homework). I had finally figured out how to make my Befuddled Broom fly, and just in time; the next day, we started learning how to play Quidditch.

"Listen up!" shouted Madam Hooch. "I don't expect you to become pro players, and I'm not grading on talent, but I want _everyone_ to learn the basic rules and techniques of Quidditch. I am dividing you into two teams, for small competitions. To motivate you to do your best, the teams will be Gryffindor and Slytherin." A murmur of excitement ran through the group.

Draco grinned at me. "I've been playing Quidditch for years, and Gryffindor's missing two players. This'll be better than Potions Class!" I was happy to note that for once, he wasn't dwelling on the fact that Potter had been chosen for a House team, not to mention Chloe Simmons being trained as a reserve. Of course, Potter and Simmons were the two missing players; they didn't go to Flying Lessons anymore, now that they had been chosen for House teams.

Madam Hooch led the class out to the Quidditch field, where she briefly explained the difference between the Quaffle, Snitch, and Bludgers, for the pitiable few who didn't already know. Then she started pairing us up to practice handling the Quaffle. I instinctively edged closer to Draco.

The yellow-eyed professor looked skeptically at me. "I'll keep everyone working within their own team, don't worry. Let's see...Weasley with Granger..." Hermione rolled her eyes, and Ron sneered. It seemed that they were no longer on speaking terms.

"...Brown with Longbottom..." I stifled a snicker as Lavender put on a brave face.

"...Adett with Goyle..." Carol's mouth quirked with disgust.

"...Malfoy with Parkinson..." Pansy smiled saccharinely, but Draco fought not to look extremely disappointed. My expression probably mirrored his. After several more pairs, Madam Hooch came to the last two students.

"...and Zænidh with Hatter. Everyone, get a Quaffle and start practicing!" She blew her whistle, and people started lifting off the ground to claim a part of the field as their own. I glanced at Troy Hatter. We were both still on the ground.

"Well?" I asked. "Aren't you going to get a Quaffle for us?" He started in surprise.

"Why do _I_ have to do it?" he asked, whining.

I rolled my eyes. "Because it's gentlemanly." Having grown up in a mansion, I had always expected a certain amount of courtesy from boys, whether I received it or not. Troy was baffled.

"Gentleman nothing! Dude, if I wanted to be some kind of _gentleman_, I would wear a tie." Then he realized he _was_ wearing a tie. "I mean, like, I would...uh...," he cast about hopelessly for a good comeback.

Going very red in the face, he finally shouted, "If I wanted to be a gentleman, I would hold doors open all the time!"

I shrugged. "Have it your way." Then, with a jab of my wand, I said, "_Accio Quaffle_!" The red ball quivered for a moment, then floated slowly into my hands. Troy scowled, mounted his broomstick, and took off. I followed close behind.

When class finally ended, Madam Hooch announced that Slytherin and Gryffindor had each gained ten points for hard work. After putting away the brooms, everyone headed straight for the Great Hall to eat lunch. Draco sought me out immediately.

"Who does that woman think she is, pairing me with Pansy?" he said caustically. "That freaky little girl! Why does she have to talk to me at all, much less _ask me for Quidditch tips_? I swear, she's always trying to suck up to me, just because I'm a Malfoy."

"Why would Madam Hooch...Quidditch...Malfoys...?" I stammered, bewildered.

Draco groaned. "No, not her! I mean Pansy. But, I have to be polite around her, because, well, it just wouldn't do to treat another Slytherin as an enemy. Still, I'd rather gouge my eyes out than look at her syrupy smile once more today!"

"Awful." I said, nodding, trying to look serious, and then changed the topic. "Hey, I just remembered, tomorrow's Halloween! All the third years and up will be in Hogsmeade, so the castle will be practically empty!"

Draco grinned. "Great, now we can go looking for that terrible death Dumbledore promised us if we wandered around on the third floor too much. Sounds brilliant."

"Death?" I echoed.

"Come on, weren't you listening at the start of term feast? Dumbledore said that the left corridor on the third floor was forbidden, for anyone who valued their lives. Or something like that. Logically, something valuable is hidden there, but the protections surrounding it are bloody dangerous. Why they put it in a school, of all places, I don't know..." Draco trailed off.

* * *

Halloween found the Great Hall decorated in orange. Jack-o-lanterns and gourds floated in the air, and festive banners hung from the walls. Breakfast was a light meal, because no one wanted to be full for the feast that night. Soon, the older students left Hogwarts to visit the nearby wizard town, and Draco and I decided to explore a bit.

Heading straight for the left-hand corridor on the third floor, all we found was a strong, locked door. I sighed heavily. "Of course. We can't even get past this door to see what the challenge might be."

Draco smirked mischievously, brandishing his wand at the massive lock. "Oh, yeah? _Alohomora_!" The lock clicked and unlatched itself. Cautiously pulling the door open, Draco peered inside. His grey eyes suddenly widened, and he frantically motioned me to look. I strained my eyes against the darkness and saw three enormous dogs, sleeping on the floor. No, wait, it was _one_ dog, with three heads! Its ears pricked, and I heard a soft growl. Gasping in shock, I shut the door as quickly as I could, re-latching the lock.

Before I could say anything, Draco grabbed my arm and pulled me through the halls, all the way to the library.

"Why...are we...going to the...library? Why not...Slytherin House?" I asked, gasping for breath.

"Because! Who would want to be in a library on their day off? I bet the rest of the Slytherins are in the common room, and I don't know if we want to tell them about what we saw. And besides, maybe we can find out what that monster is...it has to be in one of these books."

Arriving red-faced under the close scrutiny of Madam Pince, we retreated to a deserted corner of the library to talk. It was then that we bumped into Crabbe and Goyle...literally.

Draco scowled. "What are two doing here? I thought I told you two not to follow me around today, because I didn't want to be _bothered_."

Goyle bit his lip. "Ur, yes, I remember that now, but we're not following you..."

"Look at you!" Draco added in surprise. "You've got..._books_!" It was true; they were each carrying a tall stack of books.

Goyle paled. "We...we weren't going to read them..." 

"Then _what_ are you doing in a _library_?" I scoffed disdainfully.

Crabbe suddenly spoke up. "They're for Draco. To help him in class. We knew he didn't want to fall behind Granger, so we thought we'd just go ahead and check out these extra books for him."

"Not that he _needs_ them," amended Goyle. "He's still better than a Muggle-born, any day." Draco nodded warily, and we left the duo to check out Draco's books in peace.

"Now, to the topic of this three-headed dog," I began in a low voice. "It's definitely not the treasure, so it's got to be a protection. The door is also a protection. The dog is harder to get past than the door. So, if there are any more defenses, they are even harder to get past than the dog. None of them are Dark Magic, since this is a school. The treasure is not Dark Magic either, for the same reason. But it's something that a Dark Wizard would want to have, which is why it's _here_, close to Dumbledore."

Draco blinked. "How do you know all this?"

"I don't. In fact, I made it all up, just now." I shrugged away Draco's scowl. "Hey, it could be true!"

"Right. But you know, now that I think of it, I bet there _is_ no treasure," Draco chuckled. "I bet someone had a dangerous, three-headed dog, and they didn't know what to do with it, so they sent it to Hogwarts. Dumbledore locked it in little room, told everyone not to go there, and waited. Any day now, the Ministry for the Disposal of Dangerous Magical Creatures is going to show up, put the beast on trial, and execute it. The only reason they haven't done so already is that they're just plain busy."

"Hmm," I said, "your story sounds better. Even if you did make it all up, just now." We agreed that the three-headed dog was no concern of ours, and headed back to the common room. We didn't tell any of the other Slytherins; though it would have been fun to see their faces when we casually mentioned a vicious canine that could tear them limb from limb, and oh-by-the-way, it's sleeping restlessly on the third floor. Yes, it would have been quite amusing...but then again, it would have caused mass chaos, which Professor Snape absolutely despised.

* * *

That evening, the upperclassmen returned from Hogsmeade and the feast began. Pumpkin pies, leg of lamb, potato soup, and many other enticing dishes appeared on the table. Everyone started eating happily, while Carol rambled on about the many ways witches had been persecuted in the Middle Ages, mostly due to their raucous Halloween parties.

"I mean, it was only once a year!" she said around a mouthful of apple tart. "Those illiterate peasant slobs were just overreacting. Never, _ever_, did a witch harm someone without good reason. Now, some of those dangerous magical creatures, for example---"

"TROLL!!! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!" Professor Quirrell shrieked, running into the Great Hall, robes flapping and turban coming loose. All eyes turned towards him in shock. I saw Carol start to nod in agreement, then realize with horror that he meant there actually _was_ a troll, _in_ the dungeon.

"Thought you ought to know," the professor added weakly, and collapsed to the stone floor. Instantly, everyone started screaming and pushing toward the doors in panic.

Dumbledore's voice stopped the pandemonium. "Everyone, please remain calm. Students will follow their prefects back to their Houses. Teachers will follow me to the dungeon." Draco and I fell into the line of Slytherins leaving the Great Hall. Bram and Trikkit led the group through a number of unfamiliar halls and stairways, amidst unsettled murmurs. Finally, Troy spoke up.

"Dude, why are we going _this_ way?" he asked Bram indignantly. "Didn't Dumbledore, like, just tell us to go back to Slytherin Dun...geon. Oh. Dungeon. Ha ha. The _troll_ is in the dungeon. Right. Never mind." Bram's eyes twinkled with shy humor.

"Troy has brought up an interesting point. We are not," Bram said, spreading his hands before him, "in the dungeon, for obvious safety reasons. We're heading for Professor Trelawney's classroom, actually." Again a murmur ran through the group. From the younger students, it was "who is Professor Trelawney?" and from the older ones, it was "why in the _world_?" Both questions were soon answered.

"I'm a favorite student of the Divination Master," Bram said. "It's mostly because I'm a seer." (_"A seer!"_ I thought. _"How cool! He must be so talented!"_) "It also helps that I don't mock her."

"Not to her face," Flint said, winking. Bram ignored him.

"I'm sure she's there; she hardly ever comes down from her tower. It's just a little further now...sorry, but I took you the long way to avoid Sir Cadogan." Apparently, Cadogan was a wizard painting of a knight, who couldn't tell an enemy from a sea anemone.

We turned one last corner and found ourselves confronted by a ladder that rose into a hole in the ceiling. Strange lights and smells oozed out of the doorway. A woman's voice called down to us.

"I knew you were coming, Bram. I saw it." Bram silently cast his eyes skyward, shaking his head. "Do come in. Bring your friends, I want to meet them. Perhaps I may...tell their futures." Many of the older students were on the verge of either breaking into tears or breaking into fits of laughter.

Draco and I exchanged a quizzical glance, then looked toward the ladder. _Well, it's not going to climb itself..._

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: I own Andromeda, Troy, Trikkit, Bram, and Carol. Chloe Simmons belongs to WildMage42, whose story has unfortunately been removed from fanfiction.net by someone who did not read her disclaimer. A new and better version will be coming soon!! Anything that can be found in the Harry Potter books or movies DOES NOT BELONG TO ME!! All original dialogue and events (i.e. those that are NOT in the book) belong to either me or WildMage42, who is kind enough to grant me permission to use them. Thank you WildMage42! Also, questions/comments/compliments are VERY welcome. Please review!!


	10. Chapter Ten: Two Promises

Yes, this is the NEW chapter.

Chapter Ten: Two Promises

As Draco reached down through the door in the ceiling to help me into the Divination classroom, I caught a glimpse of Professor Trelawney. Wearing exotic silks, thick glasses, and an array of mystical-looking jewelry, she somewhat resembled a decorated insect.

"Welcome, welcome!" she breathed softly. "Are you the last person? Ah, yes, I see you are. Take a seat...I want everyone to be comfortable." I squinted through the hazy air to look at my surroundings. Aside from several desks, there were a few soft chairs and many overstuffed pillows. I took a seat on the floor, propping a pillow behind my back. Draco and a third-year girl named Diane Darmon sat next to me. 

"You will be staying here for quite a while? Yes, all night. _I have seen it_," continued Professor Trelawney dramatically, when everyone had settled down. "Ahhh...I think this a _marvelous_ opportunity for anyone in my Divination class to practice on other students. Crystal balls, tea kettles, and lead crucibles are in the closets. Go on!"

With this, some of the older students got up to find "equipment" for their favorite methods of foretelling the future. As they bustled around the room, I dimly realized that the incense smoke was affecting my sight in more than one way. White spots crowded across my vision...I tried blinking them away...Draco was speaking...someone shook me by the shoulders...my eyes were open but I couldn't see...

Suddenly, I felt a splash of cold water on my face. Spluttering and looking around, I saw that I was no longer in the Divination room. A small crowd of worried people all started talking at once.

"Are you okay?"

"We thought you were dead!"

"Flint had to carry you down the ladder."

"It was Troy's idea to use the water." I cringed, thinking that Troy may not have had my best interests in mind when he suggested that.

"Damn Trelawney! I told her to open a window, but _no_...'Open a window? And let all my positive energies fly out into the great unknown?' She has _no_ idea what she's talking about! She's a menace to the school!" I realized that this last speaker was Draco. My vision was clearing up, but I still felt faintly sick.

"Uh, I'm alright. I guess," I said slowly. "As long as I don't have to go back in there."

"You don't," said Bram, who, to my intense embarrassment, had just climbed down the ladder. "We're going back to the House. Dumbledore just sent word that the troll has been taken care of. I suppose Trelawney's prediction was...shall we say...an overestimate?" I nodded weakly, trying to smile. Draco helped me off of the floor, and everyone headed back to Slytherin Dungeon.

"I knew it!" exclaimed Diane. "Yesterday in class I predicted that something fortunate would happen today!"

"What would _that_ be?" I asked doubtfully. "Trolls aren't fortunate, passing out from incense smoke isn't fortunate, ending a feast early isn't fortunate..."

"No, but making Trelawney _mad_ is! You should have seen the look on her face when Trikkit said, 'Oh, sorry, we have to be leaving now!' The old phony looked like she'd been sentenced to forty lashes with a wet newt. _Completely_ outraged!" I managed a grin, imagining how an outraged insect would look.

"I will never," I spat, "_ever_, be in her class, I can promise that now. No way. No Divination for me."

* * *

For the next week, Draco and I fumed at the mention of the "Fantastic Four"...Potter, Weasley, Granger, and Simmons, that is. Troy, ever the bearer of ill news, had cheerfully informed everyone that: "Dude, _they_ defeated the mountain troll!" It seemed so absurd! It was hardly possible to understand _how_ four first-years could take on a beast that size. True, trolls are dumber than dirt, but still...!

If Draco and I were irritated, Professor Snape was positively livid. He scowled at Potter whenever he had the chance. It didn't seem to brighten his mood that he walked with a slight limp in his right leg, which the Gryffindors attributed to the troll. Somehow, they believed that the Potions Master, _Head of Slytherin House_, had let the troll into Hogwarts! No doubt they thought he was trying to kill Potter. Then again, they probably also thought he was in league with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Why a Death Eater would act so conspicuously hateful is beyond me, which only proved Professor Snape's innocence in my mind.

Draco and I met in a deserted library corner to discuss this. Once again, we had left Crabbe and Goyle behind. "I think," I began, "that someone is out to get Snape. The Potions classroom being in the dungeon, what better place would there be to set loose a giant, destructive beast? Okay, so it eventually wandered to the third floor...big deal. It probably got bored waiting."

Draco frowned in puzzlement. "What I want to know is: why was Quirrell running around the castle? Especially in the dungeon! You know how skittish he is...always jumping at shadows and looking around nervously." He widened his eyes and hunched forward, face twitching, wringing his hands, in a perfect imitation of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Master.

"You're right," I sighed. "He's pretty much worthless. If he ever met a Dark Art, he would die of shock."

"So _why_ was he not at the feast?" I shook my head. This didn't make any sense. Then I had a sudden thought...

"Maybe _Quirrell_ is trying to kill Snape! So _he_ let in a troll, then acted like he just found it on accident--"

Draco interrupted. "Do you really think Quirrell would _want_ to kill anyone? Would he have the _guts_ to deal with a troll? I think not!"

I scoffed. "Nice point, but that still doesn't explain why Quirrell didn't come to the feast!"

"Maybe he's afraid of jack-o-lanterns?"

"Quite possible."

"Indeed."

"Better a bad answer than none!" I said cheerfully. "Speaking of which, how about we go finish homework? That essay on wizard laws is going to be a killer...I mean, how can we say which is more important: the anti-Cruciatus law, or the anti-Imperius? It's an impossible question!"

"I think," Draco drawled with false seriousness, "that the anti-Imperius law is more important. Why? Because I say it is. And you will say so too, once I've broken it! Ha ha _ha_!"

"Careful!" I returned in the same tone of voice. "Someone might think you were a follower of..._He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_!" I waved my hands dramatically in the air.

"Oh, sure! You think I'm a Death Eater?" he asked sarcastically. "It must be kind of boring, actually...the same thing over and over again. Kill people, hide your creepy snake tattoo, answer to Lord Vol--er, to You-Know-Who." His quick recovery hadn't escaped my notice. I narrowed my eyes.

"Look, you can say the name. Really, I'm not scared of it."

Draco looked everywhere but at me. "Eh, well, it's just that most people wouldn't use the title 'Lord'..."

I nearly panicked. "Do you mean to say that you _are_ a...!?"

"It was a slip of the tongue. You see, Father was once...Voldemort's closest supporter," Draco said apprehensively. "But not anymore. He...tried to disobey Voldemort, go against his orders, claim a bit more power than he was given. So Voldemort...he..."

__

"Oh, great! I just had_ to say that, didn't I?"_ I thought angrily. _"Now Draco has to tell me about how Voldemort murdered his father. No wonder he never said anything about it before! It's painful, shameful, I don't know what else..."_

"I understand," I said, as gently as I could. "It's nothing to dwell on."

Draco let out a slow breath. "How would you know? I mean, did that ever happen in your family?"

"Not that I know of...although a few of my distant relations were victims of Voldemort's reign."

"Whatever happens, I _won't_ end up like Father," Draco declared vehemently. "I can promise you that."

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter books or movies, so, anything that is in the books or movies is NOT mine. Credit the chapter title to Charles Dickens...in _A Tale of Two Cities_, Book the Second, there is a "Chapter Ten: Two Promises." Actually, it was a freaky coincidence, because my original title was "Promises," then I read _A Tale_, and noticed "Two Promises," so I thought, "cool!" and added "Two" to my chapter title. Then, I ended up switching around my chapters...I think I already mentioned that...and Two Promises ended up as Chapter Ten!!!!! I feel like I'm on the Twilight Zone or something. **

I DO own Andromeda Zænidh, Bram Aurvail, Viola Trikkit, Diane Darmon, Troy Hatter, and all of the original events, dialogue, etc. Chloe Simmons belongs to WildMage42, and is used under permission from the aforesaid author. Someday, WildMage42's story will be back on fanfiction.net, _new and improved!_ Then you should read it. I'll tell y'all when it's up on the site.


	11. Chapter Eleven: Machinations

Due to a complicated set of circumstances...er...well...I accidentally wrote a chapter out of its correct chronological order. Yes, there are now eleven chapters, but the new one is Chapter Ten. So, if you started reading this story _before_ Chapter Eleven was up, I suggest you start over at Eight or Nine, to de-confuse-ify yourself. If there is any sort of plot discrepancy, please inform me and I would be happy to try to fix it. Thanks!! Please review!!  
  


Chapter Eleven: Machinations 

In November, the Quidditch season began. Coincidentally, the first game of the year pitted Slytherin against Gryffindor. Of course, Flint was confident that our House would win, but I was still worried. The captain of the team hadn't seen Potter's spectacular dive to catch the Rememberall in Flying class! Then again, I had never seen the Slytherin Seeker in action, so I couldn't make a very good comparison. 

From Draco's attitude, you would have thought that Gryffindor had already forfeited the match. "So what if old scar-head has a nice broom?" he said to me, rolling his eyes. "No one _else_ on the team does! Besides, I'm betting he'd fall off his broom if there was a stiff breeze outside." 

Somewhat reluctantly, I agreed, and joined in on the pre-game festivities taking place in the Slytherin common room. Trikkit had managed to "borrow" a small feast from the kitchen; although I'm not sure how she and fifteen upperclassmen had arranged to parade through Hogwarts carrying loads of food, without being noticed. Trays of cakes, tarts, puddings, and other desserts were passed around the room, amidst cheerful laughter and conversation. 

I was amazed. "Uh, Draco?" 

"Hmmm?" he mumbled, having just stuffed a giant brownie in his mouth. 

"Well, I was wondering...why are we celebrating _before_ the game?"   
"Why not?" he replied, after swallowing. 

My mouth twisted into a half-frown. "Perhaps because we haven't won yet. Perhaps because we don't want our players be overconfident for the game. Oh, and perhaps we don't want a Beater on a sugar-high either," I finished sarcastically. Draco shook his head, grinning madly. 

"Oh, come off it!" he chortled. "Slytherin won't lose. Slytherin _can't_ lose. You'll see." Then he went off to give the Keeper some advice that he had found in a very obscure Quidditch book. 

Realizing there was nothing I could do to change his mind, or any of the other partying Slytherins', I sat down to enjoy a butterscotch pudding. Presently, another wave of "waiters" arrived, this time carrying pitchers of hot chocolate, pumpkin cider, and a drink I'd never tried before called butterbeer. 

Several people on the victuals crew were weaving around the room handing out drinks. 

"What would you like, Andromeda?" I heard an older boy's voice say. I looked up quickly. It was Bram Aurvail, as handsome as ever. Pushing my glasses back up my nose, I frantically tried to think of something intelligent to say. What _did_ I want to drink? I had known a minute ago... 

The prefect smiled lopsidedly. "I know. The choice range is daunting. Me, I can never decide between butterbeer and pumpkin cider. But, thinking on your recent experiences with pumpkin juice..." (I grimaced inwardly as I remembered the start of term feast) "...I would recommend the butterbeer. It's great stuff. Have a mug." 

Taking the frothy drink with a nervous smile and a stiff nod, I sipped cautiously. Instantly, a warm feeling spread throughout my entire body, as if summer had come early. Glancing up to thank Bram, I found that he had moved on to another part of the room, still handing out beverages. With chagrin, I wished I had said "thank you" or even "thanks" instead of just nodding like a mute. 

However, I couldn't stay gloomy long with a mug of butterbeer in my hands and a House full of Slytherins throwing magical confetti with their wands. Draco returned to tell me about the team's strategies, which involved speed, difficult maneuvers, and taking advantage of slight loop-holes in the rules. 

From across the room, I saw Carol Adett glance at her wristwatch and pale. "The game's about the start!" she yelled to the group. "Flint, get your team down to the field, you have to be ready to fly in ten minutes!" A murmur of distress arose, but Flint just smirked. 

"Ten!" he said. "You should have seen the time we did it in three." However, he and the team left the House right away, accompanied by about half of the Slytherins. I decided to change before leaving, to wear something more spirited than the honey-colored robes I had on at the moment. 

Once I was all decked out in Slytherin robes, a bright green hat, and a green and silver scarf, I headed through the common room and out its stone door. Outside, I found Draco waiting for me, with Crabbe at his side. 

"I sent Goyle ahead to save us some seats," he explained. "Come on, or we'll miss the beginning!" We raced down the halls as fast as we could, and sprinted across the field to the Quidditch stadium. After climbing a very long set of stairs, we reached the top of the stands. Huge banners with Slytherin's emblem hung from the sides. As Flint and his team flew into sight, everyone in the stands wearing green erupted in a roar of applause. Strangely, it seemed that about three-quarters of the spectators were wearing red; there couldn't be _that_ many Gryffindors at Hogwarts... 

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the game began. Instantly, fourteen blurs sped through the air. The Quaffle flew back and forth, as a pair of Slytherin Chasers passed it to each other, drawing nearer to the goal hoops. Suddenly, an angry Bludger forced one of the Chasers to veer sideways; he couldn't catch the Quaffle in time. It soared right into the hands of a Gryffindor Chaser, who raced to the opposite end of the field, flanked by two Beaters who looked remarkably alike. 

The game continued at a furious pace, and Slytherin quickly took the lead. No one had seen the Snitch yet. All of a sudden, I noticed that Potter's flying style was very odd. Maybe he was trying to show off, but it looked like his broom was dancing about like a marionette. Then I realized that he had _no control_ over his broomstick; perhaps someone was hexing him! 

I poked Draco in the ribs with my elbow and pointed at Potter. "Look, his broom's gone crazy!" 

Draco stared in disbelief, Inge Fernfrond shrieked and covered her eyes, and Joel Shema pulled out _The Pocket Field Guide to Identifying Unusual Spells_. The chubby little book looked very similar to a bird-watcher's reference that Mother owned, and a volume about precious stones that Father enjoyed so much. Joel flipped through the pages until he found a picture of a Quidditch player dangling off her broom, which was jerking around madly. 

"Aha!" he exclaimed. "It's a Bucking Broom hex! Apparently, a pretty strong one. You have to recite an incantation and keep eye contact for it to work." 

"Who would want to kill Harry Potter?" Inge asked in a quavering voice. Since she had never shown a great liking of Potter, I think she was more worried that the killer would come after _her_ next. 

Draco snorted. "Hmmm, let's see...everyone?!" 

Carol interrupted before he could continue. "It probably won't kill him. Besides, this is Dark magic! There's not much that can interfere with a broomstick, because its own magic is so unshakable. The real question is: who would risk using the Dark Arts to kill Harry Potter, while Dumbledore is here?" 

Everyone was silent for a moment. Only a very foolish witch or wizard would try to pull something shady with Hogwarts' Headmaster around. After examining the teacher's stand for a moment, I came to a startling conclusion. 

"Dumbledore's _not_ here!" I exclaimed. "He must be away on some kind of important business. But..." I squinted across the field. "O my goodness!" I breathed. 

Draco swore, seeing it at the same time I did. Professor Snape's robes had somehow caught fire! Almost instantly, most of the adults were helping him extinguish the flames. Timid Professor Quirrell looked terrified; I suddenly realized that he and Inge probably had the same mindset. 

"Not only is someone trying to kill Potter," I said, "but they're also after Professor Snape. I bet it's the same person that let the troll in on Halloween! But, if Snape could slay a dragon, a bit of fire on his robes wouldn't hurt him. Come to think of it, neither would a mountain troll. This is getting weird." 

Draco hesitated. "Despite Father being...well...indisposed...I wish he was here," he said at last. "He could tell us...Bloody hell!" he shouted, pointing to the field. 

Ignoring Inge's shrieks of protest, I whipped around to face the Quidditch game. Potter was lying on the ground, holding in one hand...the Golden Snitch! The crowd went absolutely wild. 

"How did that happen!?" Draco yelled. "One minute, he was about to fall off his broom, then suddenly he wins the game!" 

Carol grinned devilishly. "Maybe he did fall, and he just caught the Snitch on the way down." 

Ironically, very few of the Slytherins had seen what had happened, because most were too distracted by the fact that the Head of Slytherin House had caught fire. Or, they had been watching the Quaffle instead. As the students drained slowly out of the stands and back into the school, Troy Hatter recounted the end of the game to everyone. 

"It was like this," he began. "First, Potter's broom was like, poof! And it stopped dancing around. So then the dude looked around, and he saw the Snitch. He did this awesome thing, it was like, the best dive I've ever seen. And when he crashed on the ground, there was no Snitch! And, wouldn't you know, he looked like he was gonna hurl. Only, instead of being sick, he, like, spat out the Snitch! It was like, in his mouth, man!" 

By November, I had gotten used to Troy's unusual manner of speaking. However, it never failed to make me laugh. I stifled a chuckle as he drew out the word "man" to several times its normal length. Unlike Professor Quirrell, Troy came from America, where _everyone_ talked funny; Quirrell's problem was serious, but Troy's was just plain hilarious. 

When we got back to the common room, no one was in the mood to celebrate, probably because the game had ended in a miserable defeat for Slytherin. Flint glared daggers at Troy, looking like he would maim the first year if he so much as said, "Potter" or "the dude" one more time. Troy noticed the hostility of many of the Slytherins, and put up his hands defensively. 

"Hey, man, I'm not rooting for Gryffindor! I'm just telling it like it happened!" he said quickly. But after that, he kept his Quidditch storytelling to a minimum, especially when Flint was around. 

To Be Continued...   
  


Disclaimer: I own Andromeda, Inge Fernfrond, Carol Adett, Bram Aurvail, Trikkit, Troy Hatter, Joel Shema, _The Pocket Field Guide to Identifying Unusual Spells_, and anything else that you can't find in JKR's works or the movies. And I am not insulting Americans, just pointing out a peculiarity in the way some of them speak. Chloe Simmons belongs to WildMage42...the story will be up someday, I'll tell you when. 


	12. Chapter Twelve: Combustion

Chapter Twelve: Combustion 

December came in a flurry of snow and excitement. However, it started out quite poorly for me. 

As I sat next to the fireplace in the common room, working on my Transfiguration homework, the stone door opened to admit Professor Snape. His pallid face was set in a troubled expression. _"Odd,"_ I thought, _"for Snape to look like that..."_

Two spotted owls were perched on his arm; one held a bright red envelope in its beak, and the other had a large letter tied to its foot. Everyone turned in surprise to face the Potions Master, wondering, no doubt, why he had come. 

"Miss Zænidh," he said loudly, looking around the room. I jumped up quickly. Half of the Slytherins looked worried for me, while the other half looked glad that it didn't involve them. 

"Yes, sir?" I asked, extremely nervously. Was it something I had done? 

"I found these in the hall. I believe they were looking for you." He held out the owls. I stepped forward quickly and took them from him. 

"Thank you, sir. Sorry to trouble you. I'll take care of sending them back out. Sir." 

Professor Snape frowned slightly. "Don't apologize. The trouble is all yours. Open the red one right now, or you will regret it. That is all." He turned on his heel and swept out of the common room. As soon as the door had shut, everyone started talking at once. 

"Have you ever gotten a Howler before?" 

"O, you're in for it, Andromeda!" 

"Take it to your room. That way, we don't have to hear it." 

"Who sent it? I bet it's a Gryffindor." 

"Can you think of anyone who hates you?" 

I had to raise my voice to answer. "No, I've never gotten a Howler before. I don't know who sent it, as I haven't opened it yet. And I'm sure _someone_ hates me. Now, if you'll excuse me..." I retreated to the first year girl's dormitory, followed by Carol, who looked very sympathetic. Draco scowled, and continued working on homework. 

I flopped dejectedly onto my bed, tossing the large letter onto a side table, while Carol closed the door. "No point in that," I said. "Everyone will still be able to hear this bloody thing, screaming to raise all--" 

"You'd be surprised how much a closed door can muffle its sound," Carol interrupted. "Now, open it, quickly! It'll only get worse." 

Stretching my hands as far away from my face as possible, I closed my eyes and broke the wax seal. Immediately, an enraged voice filled the room. It was Father! 

"MY OWN DAUGHTER, A SLYTHERIN!! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME? I THOUGHT YOU WERE IN GRYFFINDOR, LIKE YOUR SISTERS! WHATEVER POSSESSED YOU TO _ASK_ THE HAT TO PUT YOU IN SLYTHERIN?? NOW THE FAMILY IS DISGRACED, AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!! BRADLEY AND BRYAN SAY YOU'RE NOT A TRUE ZÆNIDH, AND YOUR GRANDMUM IS ACCUSING _MY_ LIZAVETA* OF...OF...EVERYTHING!!! YOU ARE _NOT_ WELCOME HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS, YOUNG LADY, AND THAT IS FINAL!!!!"

In one final burst of spite, the envelope exploded in a swirl of flame. I was in tears by now. I _hadn't_ asked the hat to put me in Slytherin! Just because I'd forgotten to mention it in the few owls I had sent...well, not like it would have mattered if I _had_ told him. It wouldn't have changed anything. Besides, I _was_ a Zænidh! I had Mother's eyes and Father's nose..._everyone_ told me so..._including_ Uncle Bradley, Uncle Bryan, and Grandmum! As for everything being Mother's fault...well, that was just ridiculous. I was so mad, so confused, so...so... 

Through teary eyes, I noticed the expression on Carol's face. It was a mixture of shock, horror, and pity. "I...I had no idea, Andromeda..." she said softly. "I thought it was just...someone decided to play a nasty prank. That's what it always is for me. I'm so sorry." 

"I didn't ask for Slytherin!" I sobbed. 

"What's wrong with being a Slytherin? Your dad seemed kind of...bent out of shape?" 

Between sobs, I recounted, once again, the story of the Zænidh Rift. Carol listened intently. 

"So, basically, since your sisters were in Gryffindor, you can't be in Slytherin?" I nodded weakly. "And, so, everyone thinks you're a freak? But...that's dumb! There was nothing you could do about it." 

"If I had thought of it, I could have asked the hat nicely," I mumbled. 

Carol started. "Asked the hat nicely? How? 'What ho, hat, would you mind not putting me in Slytherin?' Sure. Whatever you say." 

Now it was my turn to be surprised. "You mean the Sorting Hat didn't talk to _you_? Debate about what House to put you in?" 

"Uh, _no_. I can definitely say, it did _not_. It just sat there for a second, and then yelled 'Slytherin!'" 

I sniffled. "Maybe I am a freak." 

Carol grinned ruefully. "Look at it this way: at least you're not Chloe Simmons! Or Harry Potter," she added. "That would be the _worst_! Everyone would ask to hear some Parseltongue, or see your scar, or get your autograph. _And_, You-Know-Who would probably want to kill you. I mean, we've got the good life, being in Slytherin. No one expects us to be all heroic and good." 

"Well," I said, "I guess you're right about that. But that doesn't help my family situation. Father is never going to forgive me!" 

"O, it can't last forever." 

I grimaced. "You don't know my father." 

* * * 

Christmas slowly trudged closer. Ravenclaw won its Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, which came as no real surprise to anyone. McGonagall continued to be exceedingly critical of my poor job of Transfigurations, a subject which had never been my forte.

The other Slytherins felt very sorry for me, mostly because of the Howler, and some even invited me to spend the holiday break with their families; I politely declined, thinking that it would be too awkward of a situation. Thankfully, Draco offered to stay at Hogwarts with me. Of course, I couldn't argue. Almost everyone else was going to go home for the break, which would leave Hogwarts as empty as a robbed linen closet.

One day, while sulking in my dorm after class, I remembered that there had been _two_ owls, not just the Howler. Rummaging about on my desk, which had become cluttered, I found the large letter. It was written on fine paper and sealed with a blob of yellow wax. I realized, with happiness, that the wax was imprinted with an eight-pointed star: the symbol on my sister Libra's signet ring! 

I tore open the letter and read: 

__

Dear Andromeda, 

__

We heard the news. It came as quite a shock, finding that you're now a Slytherin! But whatever Father or anyone else says, you are still our sister, and nothing can change that. Yes, we heard the rumors, and no, we're not angry with you. If we were in England right now, we would give those other Zænidhs a piece of our minds; how dare they try to disown you! 

__

On a lighter note...how's school going for you? Is Binns still teaching there, or has he died?--Just kidding! What kind of a person is Harry Potter? Say hi to all the teachers for us. (Except for Trelawney; she was awful!) Anyway, work hard, have fun, and above all, don't let anyone make you feel inferior!! 

__

Your sisters forever, 

__

Libra and Gemini 

__

P.S. (from Gemini) Guess what! I decided to become an Animagus! Guess what animal...a falcon! Wish me luck; I've heard that the training and studying is a grueling ordeal. 

Despite it all, I found myself grinning. _"Well,"_ I thought, _"if Gem and Lib don't care about the Zænidh Rift, neither should I."_

I took out a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of purple ink, and started writing a letter back to my sisters. 

__

Dear Libra and Gemini, 

__

As you say, Gemini: good luck on becoming an Animagus! Yes, Binns is still at Hogwarts. Trelawney is still awful, which I found out through a bad experience with incense smoke. Harry Potter is the disagreeable sort; and what's worse, he made the Gryffindor House team! Go on, laugh it up, Gryffindors! But it really doesn't seem fair, as he is only a first year. Someone bought_ him a Nimbus 2000, for Pete's sake, when he's not even supposed to have a broom at all! Rumor has it, it was McGonagall._

__

On a darker note...I'm afraid Father might try something rash, to get me out of Slytherin House, though I'm sure he knows it's not possible. He even sent me a Howler, at the same time you sent a letter. It bothers me. I haven't owled him back...I don't know what I would say. "Sorry?" That hardly seems appropriate. How does Mother feel about all this? If she stood up for me, Father wouldn't argue with her. 

__

Sincerely, 

__

Andromeda 

Letting the last of the ink dry, I searched my desk for a stick of wax. I quickly warmed it over a candle, smeared it across the folded parchment, and waited for it to cool. Father had promised a signet ring for my eleventh birthday, which was in May, but at the moment it didn't seem likely that he would follow through with it. I sighed, thinking, _"Why me?"_

* * *

On the last day of school, the only thing that went right was Potions class. Professor Snape didn't even look twice at my cauldron, although the potion was three shades lighter and half as bubbly as it should have been. Normally, he would have told me he expected better work from me (a wonderful compliment, in his eyes, meaning that I was _capable_ of better work), but that Friday, he seemed rather distracted. He glared darkly at Simmons, who was chatting with Granger about Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"But seriously, though, I don't understand why everyone has to make fun of Professor Quirrel. He's so nice, it's really not fair…," Simmons was saying.

"What is not _fair_," Snape growled at her, "is that a student would waste time in _my_ class talking about trivial matters. I see that you haven't added all of your ingredients yet. Get back to work!"

With a thinly disguised sneer, Simmons started tossing pinches of powdered goat hoof into her cauldron. "Careful!" cautioned Granger. "You have to stir it constantly, or it'll react badly with the wormwood!"

Beside me, Draco grinned maliciously. "This is the part when they ruin their potion, it explodes, and we laugh," he murmured. "I think I'll...help them." Out of a robe pocket, he procured a small, red vial. "Just a simple flick of the wrist, when Snape isn't looking..."

"_What_!?" I whispered hoarsely. "Do you have any idea what would happen to us if Professor Snape caught us? It would be a disast--"

"No, no, no," Draco said. "You'd never get in trouble. You're his favorite, _remember_?" He changed his voice to a cold snarl, like Snape's. "'Longbottom, that potion is worse than bad, it's terrible. Patil, can't you use a knife? And you four, you know what? I hate you! Oh, good work, Miss Zænidh, very nice job. Ten points to Slytherin.' You know he wouldn't even give you a detention."

I chuckled in spite of myself. "I suppose. It's all _your_ risk."

"All right then," he said. "Watch this." He checked to see that Snape was otherwise occupied, then tossed the vial towards the girls' cauldron. It hit the far rim, bounced, and landed with a plop in Finnigan's cauldron! We both winced...that had _not_ been the plan. Immediately, the cauldron erupted in a bright red flash of fire and smoke. Most of the class screamed and tried to hide under their desks as hot ash fell from the air.

When the ash had settled, the only person left standing was Professor Snape. The air around him shimmered with a Protection Charm. "_Who_," he rumbled menacingly, "is responsible for _that_?" He cast a cold glare around the room. "Simmons? Weasley? Potter?" They all shook their heads in fright. "Brown, Longbottom, Patil, Granger? Ah-h-h. Mr. Finnigan...you seem to have the most charred face. It wouldn't have happened to be _your_ cauldron that nearly killed twenty students, now would it?"

Finnigan quivered in absolute terror. "N-no, sir, I mean, I don't think so, I wasn't even, it must have exploded on its own." I actually felt sorry for him...but not sorry enough to stand up with the truth.

"Then can you explain," the Potions Master barked, "_how_--"

"It was me," said Simmons. Draco caught himself staring, and quickly became interested in the hem of his sleeve. I shut my gaping mouth and tried to look disgusted. Snape turned to her, scowling. "Yes, it was my fault," she continued. "I was asking Seamus if he'd lend me his scales, 'cause mine are out of whack, and it distracted him from stirring."

Snape raised one eyebrow. "See?" Chloe said, smacking her scales repeatedly. "They don't balance."

"Not anymore," Troy whispered loudly.

"Your story is suspicious, Miss Simmons...but I will accept it. Twenty points from Gryffindor and detention for you. I expect you to clean this all up." With that, Professor Snape dismissed the class. "O, and detention for Mr. Finnigan, for letting himself be distracted."

Draco and I hid our grins until we were safely back in the common room. "That went rather nicely, I'd say," my blonde friend drawled, propping his feet on a table. "Just think: a whole two weeks off of school...and none of the Foul Four around to spoil it."

"Well," I said, grinning sarcastically, "it could be worse."

To Be Continued...

* Lizaveta is a Russian name, short for Elizaveta, which is sort of like Elizabeth. But, Mrs. Zænidh goes by Elizabeth most of the time. It is only because Andromeda's dad is so angry that he uses this term of endearment for his wife.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, cuz, well, I am not Rowling. I also don't own the movies (no duh). And if anything in this story is in the books or movies, or any other book or movie that is not HP, I obviously don't own it. I freely admit to NOT OWNING IT!! O, and if you haven't heard yet, WildMage42's story is back up...Year of the Parselmouth. Go read it! Please?


	13. Chapter Thirteen: The Mirror of Erised

Chapter Thirteen: The Mirror of Erised

__

"'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the House, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse." I scowled at the darkness of the dormitory. Why, _why_, did Father have to teach me Muggle poems? This one had been running through my head, over and over, all night. Just because most of the world was non-magical, didn't mean that the non-magic part was any good. I mean, that Saint Nick bloke must have been pretty poor with a wand; else, why would he have needed _eight_ magical reindeer? One would have been just fine! Still, I _was_ excited that tomorrow was Christmas.

A faint noise of footsteps on the stone floor caught my attention. Sitting up, I squinted toward the door. Someone was there...but it was too dark to see who. Maybe it was just my imagination. I flopped into bed again, wrapping the goose-down comforter closer around me.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, Draco's grey eyes were twelve inches from my face.

"Ahk!" I said groggily. "What are _you_ doing here? Is it morning already?"

"Shh!" he said, raising a finger to his lips. His wand was lit up like a candle, casting a yellow glow on the room. "It's still twelve-thirty. But, you'll never guess what I just found!"

I rolled my eyes. "O, just tell me."

"I can't."

"No one else would hear. They all left for the holidays."

"I mean, I can't just _tell_ you. You have to _see_ it."

Groaning, I rolled out of bed, almost stepping on Felon, who let out a fierce shriek. Pulling on a violet robe over my pajamas, I said, "Fine. I wasn't getting much sleep, anyway."

Leaving Slytherin Dungeon, Draco led me, with Felon close behind, through twisting hallways and dark staircases. Along the way, he explained how he had found...whatever it was that I was about to see.

"About half an hour ago," he said, with obvious excitement, "I realized that I'd forgotten to send a letter home to Mother. She's always concerned about how school is going! And, you know, since I'll not be seeing her for a while, I thought it'd be a nice Christmas gift to send an owl."

"So what's your point?"

"I'm getting to that! I wrote a really quick letter, than went to the owlery to send it. On my way back, I got lost, and ended up in an abandoned classroom. It's right around this corner...here!"

I stepped into the room apprehensively. _"Why,"_ I thought, _"are we sneaking around at night? What if Filch catches us? Or worse, Mrs. Norris!"_ However, Felon didn't seem to sense any danger, and crossed the room. Then she started licking her paw nonchalantly in front of a huge mirror.

"Is that it?" I asked Draco. "I came all the way here, in the middle of the night, to see a mirror? Sure, it's pretty, and probably really old, but..." I shrugged. A mirror, of all things!

"Not just _any_ mirror. A mirror that shows the future!" he exclaimed. "The Mirror of Erised!" I crossed the room to look closer at it. It was gold, standing on two clawed feet, and it had an inscription at the top:

__

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

"What are those words?" I asked.

Draco shrugged. "No idea. I pretty sure it's the name of the thing. But look in it, already!"

"I see myself. Long, straight, brown hair...brown eyes...glasses...violet robes...a grey cat at my feet...nothing unusual."

"Stand right in front of it, not to the side." I complied. "See? Right there! It's the Karasjok Kites! D'you see _me_? Isn't is brilliant?"

But apparently, Draco was confused...there were no kites in the mirror. In my reflection, there were two people standing behind me, a man and a woman. They were dressed in winter furs and thick, black boots, and each held a wand. Scars lined their harsh faces, and snow swirled violently around them. A big, white dog lay at the woman's feet. I turned around, but no one was there.

Somehow, those faces looked too familiar...but it was impossible! I had never seen these people before. They were obviously magical, but they looked like Dark Followers! If this was my future, I wasn't sure I wanted to see it...

Draco must have seen the horrified look on my face. "You mean, you don't see a Quidditch team? I guess it shows a different future for each person...that makes sense..."

Suddenly, the man put his hand on the reflection of my shoulder. It felt like ice...but very, very far away. There was something about his eyes that scared me...a lot. I gasped sharply. "Draco, let's leave. I don't like this mirror." Before he could stop me, I grabbed Felon off of the floor and bolted from the room.

Dashing down dimly-lit corridors, I suddenly remembered my original worry: Filch could catch us. I glanced around nervously, but couldn't hear or see anyone else. "What," asked Draco, catching up to me, "is going on? What did you see?"

"First tell me what you saw."

"Well," he said slowly, "it was the Norse Quidditch team, the Karasjok Kites. I've always wanted to play on a professional team. I thought the mirror was showing my future...which would be bloody lucky for me." He narrowed his eyes with concern. "So...what was so bad about your future?"

I bit my lower lip. "If that really is my future, I'm in for some trouble. There was a man and a woman...they looked kind of like Soviets, and really evil."

"Soviets?"

"Don't you know any history?" I cried, exasperated. "It's not just Muggle stuff! If they have a war, it affects us, too." Draco looked away. "I'm sorry. It's just...it frightened me. I don't want to meet those people."

He shook his head. "I bet it's not _really_ the future. I bet it's something that _could_ happen. Or, something that someone wants you to _think_ will happen." I could tell he was bluffing; he wasn't even very good at it. I sighed.

"Well, we should get back to the Dungeon now..." Just then, two red eyes met mine. They belonged to Mrs. Norris. "O no...what now?"

But Felon seemed to have the situation under control. She sauntered over to Filch's cat, purring. When she was just inches from Mrs. Norris, she suddenly reached out her claws and took a vicious slice at the other cat's nose. Mrs. Norris howled and fled, bleeding.

Draco and I gaped. "Felon?" I said. "Did you really just do what I think you just did?"

"I think," said Draco, "that she did. If we're lucky, Mrs. Norris will be too, eh, ashamed to report to Filch."

"Hm. Well, I don't know how cats think, but if I were Mrs. Norris, I certainly wouldn't want to report being beaten up. Y'know, keeping up appearances." Draco chuckled, and we headed back to Slytherin Dungeon.

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, am not JKR, am not Warner Bros. Am not Harry Potter. Read _Year of the Parselmouth_, by WildMage42. Review. And review mine, too.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Suspicions!

Chapter Fourteen: Suspicions!

After a night of fitful sleep, Christmas morning finally came. Felon woke me around six o'clock, by pouncing onto my back and pawing my ears. "Alright, alright, I'm getting up..." I said thickly.

Entering the common room, I stopped to admire the giant pine tree, which was decorated with silver globes and fairy lights. Then I noticed Draco slumped in a chair, yawning. "O, good, the cat woke you up, too," he said. "I was beginning to wonder."

I laughed. "Felon's very concerned with people, especially for a cat. Anyway, look at all the presents we got!" Clustered around the tree was a pile of boxes wrapped in brightly colored paper.

Draco grinned. "I was wondering when you'd notice." Immediately, we both started sorting through the pile to figure out whose was whose. Draco got a bunch of sweets, a new pair of shoes, a dark green cloak, an unbreakable inkwell, and...

"Bloody..." he muttered in disgust. "Look what I got from home. A book about Gringotts. _The History of a Goblin Bank_. History of banks, pff! Why not something exciting, about Quidditch, or dragons, or...well, anything else would be better."

"Here, you can read this," I said, handing him a book that Libra had sent me. "It's one of my favorite stories."

He took it and read the title. "The Hobbit. The _what_?"

"Hobbit. A small person with pointy ears and hairy feet, who loves food and lives in a hole in the ground. Then there's this wizard, who tells the hobbit to go on an adventure, where he meets a dragon who's hoarding a bunch of gold, an Animagus who turns into a bear, and a lot of angry goblins."

Draco looked impressed. "I think I'd enjoy that book." I didn't bother telling him that most magical folk would consider the author a Muggle, while most Muggles would consider him a wizard. It seemed too confusing.

Besides _The Hobbit_, I got a pecan pie, a star chart with wizard-pictures of the constellations, a new quill pen, a smoked salmon (which Felon immediately snatched away...I think that's why she woke me up so early), and...

"This is so cute, Draco! Thank you!" In my hands rested a tiny, wooden music box, which played _Castle on a Cloud_. Draco started violently.

"Who, me? Eh, no," he said, turning a bit pink. "Sorry, but I didn't get anything for you. I didn't know what you would want, and it's not like I could just stroll out of the school for a little jaunt in Hogsmeade whenever I felt like it."

"It's fine, I didn't get anything for you either. But then, who sent me this? The tag had really fancy lettering, and I _thought_ it said, D.M., as in, your initials. Is there anyone else...?" We both pondered it for a moment, trying to think of anyone with those initials. "Well if you look at it like this," I said, turning the tag to the side a bit, "the D could be an O, and the M could be a W..."

A thought dawned on Draco, and he sneered. "Oliver Wood?"

"Goodness, I hope not!" But I couldn't help but wonder.

* * * 

At the feast that evening, I remembered that Potter, Granger, Simmons, and the four Weasleys had indeed stayed at Hogwarts over vacation. (Luckily, we had stayed in the House most of the time, so we had hardly seen them at all.) Everyone sat at one table, and Dumbledore made a short speech about how grateful he was that none of the Christmas trees had caught fire yet. It was the oddest speech I had ever heard, but I think it was directed toward the Weasley twins.

The food tasted delicious, and there were some amazing party favors, including candy from the sweetshop in Hogsmeade, a rear admiral's hat, little white mice, and...

"Hey, cool!" said Simmons. "I got a wizard chess set! I'll beat you someday, Weasley!" Weasley laughed as if to say, "_Not in a million years, silly!"_

It was then that I noticed Simmons' face; it was red and scarred from blisters. Her normally blonde hair had a disgusting streak of black in it, and something made me think that it wasn't supposed to be a fashion statement. "Draco!" I murmured, elbowing him in the ribs. "Look at Chloe. I think that's what your exploding...uh, _the_ _explosion_ in Potions class did to her." I tried to keep a serious face, but it just wasn't possible. I smirked and almost laughed out loud. It shouldn't have been funny, but this was Simmons, my Gryffindor rival! "Ha!" Draco laughed loudly, strolling down the table to where Simmons sat. "Well, aren't we the pretty one? The hair is a nice touch."

She sneered nastily back at him. "Look who's talking. The last time I saw a face like yours, there was a hook in its mouth."

__

"Oooh!" I thought angrily. _"If I weren't at a feast..._Stupefy_!"_

"I know about the potion, Malfoy," she continued quickly. "Not a very nice thing to do at all."

Draco's grey eyes flashed a hint of shock, but he answered smoothly, "Don't know what you're talking about, Simmons. It was your fault, remember? Not a very good habit, pinning all of your little accidents on everyone else. A very bad habit indeed." There was something about that drawl that sounded _so-o-o _familiar, but as if I'd heard it elsewhere, and not from Draco. Maybe it was just déjà vu.

Simmons just sneered, and Draco turned on his heel to sit down again. "She suspects," he muttered. "But she doesn't know. There's no proof."

"Then," I said, "there's nothing to worry about."

After dinner was over, Draco and I left the Great Hall and played wizard chess in the common room for a while. That is, Draco creamed me at wizard chess for a while. It may have been that I hadn't played recently...or it might have had something to do with the fact that my set of pieces had a tendency to become confused.

"I said, pawn to A5, not pawn to C3! Are you deaf?"

"Ar...per'aps 'e is, miss," said a knight. "Took a blow to th' 'ead last game, don' think 'e's been th' same since."

"Wot?" said a bishop. "No, old chap, that was the _other_ pawn."

"Well, they look th' same t' me," the knight answered.

"Of course, they're wearing uniforms!"

"Yer wearin' the same type o' robes as tha' bishop o'er there, an' you don' look th' same as 'im."

"That's not a bishop, that's the King!"

"O. No won'er 'e di'n't have a pointy hat."

And so their inane conversations continued for the next three hours. It didn't bother me at all, because it was just too amusing. One match, my set even tried to challenge Draco's to a duel of words; nothing came of it but a few lame insults. In the end, Draco had to forfeit, when his set refused to stand on the same board as my "wretched band of plebes."

"Well, Andromeda," he said, laughing, "that's the most hilarious set of chess pieces I've ever seen. Where'd you find them? Wait, don't tell me...I bet it was Zonko's Joke Shop!"

I chuckled. "Actually...no. It's sort of an unwanted family heirloom. My great-grandfather bewitched the set for a Charms exam, but the Professor didn't appreciate the, ah, humor involved. Thought his student was trying to be a pain in the you-know-what. Anyway, it got passed around the family for years, like a gag-gift, until someone gave it to me and I decided to keep it. They're always good for a laugh, if not for a real game!"

We were about to go to our dormitories, when suddenly I realized...

"Uh, Draco, where are Crabbe and Goyle? I haven't seen them at all for days. They did stay at Hogwarts, didn't they?" Draco paled, if that was even possible, and stared at me.

"I...I don't know. They weren't at the feast, either, were they?" I shook my head dumbly. He growled and said something that made me glare at him reprovingly. "Sorry, sorry...but, if those two pigs wouldn't come to a party with unlimited free food, there must be something very wrong with them."

I agreed nervously. But where _could_ they have been? The only other places in the castle worth going, besides the Dungeon and the Great Hall, were the Hospital Wing, the owlery, and the Library. Something very wrong, indeed, would have had to have happened for them to be at any of those places.

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, The Hobbit, Les Miserables, Castle on a Cloud, JRR Tolkien, Christmas, fairy lights, Gringotts, Quidditch, dragons, goblins, Bilbo, Gandalf, Legolas, pirates, Spain, France, the revolution, wizard chess, bread, or Jean Valjean. Not that all of those were mentioned in this chapter; I'm simply stating that I don't own them, or anything else that might have been, eh, borrowed. Most of the feast scene belongs to WildMage42; go read her story!! I DO own Andromeda Zænidh, her cat, her owl, and her family. Please review!!


	15. Chapter Fifteen: The Cards Are Dealt Wro...

Before I start...big thanks to Malachite, Rin, OrliB4ever, Rebecca Blynx, Fool of a Took, Kat Heiman, and of course, WildMage42, for leaving very nice reviews!! Back to the story...

Chapter Fifteen: The Cards Are Dealt Wrong

The grandfather clock in the common room struck noon. Draco turned in surprise toward the creaking, opening door, then scowled at the two boys as they entered the common room. "Crabbe! Goyle!" They jumped noticeably. "Where _were_ you? Andromeda and I have been searching Hogwarts all morning!"

They looked at each other dumbly, then Crabbe spoke up. "Ur...we were in the library--"

"Spying on Harry Potter," Goyle finished. I turned questioning eyes on Draco. Had he ordered the duo to _spy_? Apparently not, as Draco seemed as shocked as I was.

"Spying on Harry Potter...," Draco muttered in confusion. "Did you come up with that idea...on your own?"

Goyle began: "Yes--"

But Crabbe quickly cut in: "Sort of. We were returning those books you borrowed, they were really overdue, and we heard Potter and his gang talking about something really interesting--"

"That we thought _you'd_ want to know about."

Draco thought about this for a moment. "Well, what was it?"

"They were talking about the Philosopher's Stone!" Goyle exclaimed.

"What's wrong with that?" I asked. "Lots of people talk about that, I bet."

Goyle shrugged, avoiding my eyes. "They think it's hidden somewhere in the school. They meet in the library all the time, and try to find stuff about this guy, Nicolas Flamel. They're being all secretive, but it's not hard to listen in while they talk."

Draco and I just stared. Finally, the absurdity of it all sank in, and I snorted loudly. "Oh, right. A Philosopher's Stone, in Hogwarts. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! What have _you_ learnt all year, how to tell stories? Pff! They won't find a Philosopher's Stone here. There's only one, and Nicolas Flamel isn't going to just give it away."

"Maybe," said Draco thoughtfully, "someone stole it from him."

"And then brought it to Hogwarts? Dumbledore would know instantly, and make them return it," I replied. Draco nodded in agreement, seeing my point.

Crabbe scrunched his eyebrows together. "Maybe, _Dumbledore_ stole it."

And Goyle added, "Or maybe Dumbledore _is_ Nicolas Flamel, in disguise."

Draco sneered in disbelief, and snapped, "Would you two just stop talking _please_? This is getting ridiculous! As far as you're concerned, there is no Stone! Leave it at that!" Crabbe and Goyle trudged out of the room, only to return a few moments later carrying large stacks of books.

"Umm, these are for you," Crabbe said. "To help you study." Then they retreated into the dorms before Draco could yell at them any more. The latter picked up each book, reading the titles.

"Well..._Help With Herbology_, _Goblin Revolutions Made Interesting_, _Perfecting Your Potions_. Hey! My potions are just fine, who does Crabbe think he is, trying to--"

"Trying to help," I interrupted. "He said so. Really, do you think he'd actually try to insult you? Besides, you could use a little studying. You know that I do most of the work in Potions class, so what would happen if you didn't have my help?"

"But Professor Snape said I was one of the 'select few.' He was looking right at me!" Draco said indignantly.

"Sorry, but he was looking at _me_. Admit it, I have higher marks," I cajoled. He just rolled his eyes. "Okay then, answer this: how precisely does powdered unicorn horn have to be measured?"

He bit his lower lip in thought, then asked, "To the nearest ounce?"

"Sure," I said, "but only if you want to fail the exam. It _ought_ to be measured to the nearest dram, or it won't turn out right." Draco scowled and started reading. Seeing that he should be left alone for a while (at least five minutes), I went to the other side of the common room and pulled out a deck of cards to play solitaire. The royalty had wizard-picture faces, but aside from that it was the same as the Muggle version of cards.

As soon as I had pulled the aces out and dealt the remaining cards into eight stacks, Crabbe and Goyle walked into the common room again, mumbling about finding something to eat in the Great Hall.

Suddenly, Goyle noticed my card game. "Beleaguered Castle!" he exclaimed, then clamped his mouth shut and cringed.

"Oh, you like solitaire, too?" I asked, ignoring his cringing. "Maybe you could teach me some new variations." Most people I met didn't have the patience for one-player, non-magical card games, and even fewer could recognize a specific game at first glance.

"Ur, uh...no! I-don't-play-solitaire! My...my-house-elf-does!" he blurted, then bolted for the door. 

When he and Crabbe had left, I just sat there thinking, _"What in blazes...?"_ It was all extremely suspicious...house elves don't, or at least, _shouldn't_ play cards...and why would Goyle even say that in the first place? Honestly, you'd think he'd be proud of knowing _something_ for a change.

I glanced down at my cards again, to find the Knave of Wands grinning and waving a roll of parchment at me. _"What are _you_ so happy about?"_ I thought, knowing full well that the Knave of Wands _always_ looked like that. It just didn't seem fair; cards are always being slapped around and thrown through the air and stuffed into a tiny little box, but they never mind.

I sighed, then turned towards Draco's end of the common room to ask him if he knew what was going on. In fact, he didn't seem to have noticed Goyle's puzzling behavior; he was intent on studying. Or moping. I wasn't sure which. So, I went back to my game of Beleaguered Castle. I knew I wasn't going to win; the cards were dealt all wrong. Felon sat on my lap purring, oblivious to my discontent.

The blazing fire eventually died down, and without a Fire Charm, I had no intention of trying to start it up again myself. I assumed that the House Elves had started the fire, as all of the older students were away for the holidays. Only, I didn't know how to summon a House Elf to do a chore for me; the more subtle they are, the better. 

Anyway, it didn't really matter; it was lunchtime already, and anywhere else in the school would be much warmer than Slytherin Dungeon. I managed (quite easily) to liberate Draco from his reading, and we went to the Great Hall to eat.

Looking back, I realize that Crabbe and Goyle were not at lunch that day. Neither were Potter, Granger, Weasley, and Simmons. I can only guess that they were in the library; the latter searching for Nicholas Flamel, and the former spying on them. At the time, though, I thought nothing of it. Goodness, what did it really matter?

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: I own Andromeda Zænidh, Felon the cat, and about anything you'd not find in Rowling's books. I don't own Beleaguered Castle, or the Wands suit. Wands is a different name for Spades. Simmons belongs to WildMage42; read the story _Year of the Parselmouth_. It is a very cool story! If you liked mine, you should like _YotP_. If you don't like mine, I don't know why you've read this far....? Anyway, leave reviews!!! I love nice reviews!!! Suggestions and/or complaints are welcome as well...I just want some kind of feedback.


	16. Chapter Sixteen: The Right Thing To Do

Just finished reading OotP, and...wow. If you have not read it _yet_, I hereby declare you to be a fool. Go read it, right now!! For those who _have_ read it, back to the story....

Chapter Sixteen: The Right Thing To Do

Draco and I kept January interesting for all of the Slytherins by mocking everyone we saw. Not that they knew it, of course! It was a practiced art. Take, for example, Chloe Simmons...it seemed she was only dimly aware of the fact that we made fun of her at all. 

Whenever her back was turned, I would charm a lock of my hair to be bright green, poking fun at the black streak in _her_ hair that was caused by the cauldron explosion. It wasn't an easy spell, and I wasn't very good at Charms, anyway, but my inability suited my purposed just fine. Instead of being permanent, the color lasted only a few seconds, meaning she would never notice. Carol thought this was possibly the funniest thing in the world, and Inge managed a few little giggles. Even Joel Shema thought my joke was brilliant, which amazed me, as he was so...well, "intellectual" comes to mind.

Early in February, I found that Father had, indeed, tried to make Dumbledore move me out of Slytherin and into a different House. Professor Snape had witnessed the incident in Dumbledore's office, and took me aside after class to inform me of it...

"No, Miss Zænidh," he said carefully, in response to my immediate barrage of questions. "No one was hurt. Your father tried to Imperio the Sorting Hat--"

"He tried to WHAT?!"

"But only succeeded in turning it slightly mossy," he finished sardonically, rolling his eyes. "It's nothing to worry about."

I was far from convinced. "But that's an Unforgivable! He can't do that, it's illegal!"

Professor Snape looked down at me with only a trace of exasperation on his pallid face. "Fortunately for him, one is not sent to Azkaban for _attempting_ a curse on a _hat_. And"--his eyes flickered with something like admiration--"Dumbledore is a very forgiving man."

I nodded stiffly and hurried out of the room; everyone else had already left. _"Forgiving man, my foot! You'd have to be mad to--"_

My thoughts were interrupted when I turned a corner and ran straight into Pansy Parkinson.

"I am so-o-o sorry!" she said. "Are you alright?" Surprised, I realized that she wasn't sugarcoating her voice; she was being totally sincere.

"Yes, I'm fine," I replied. "But where are you going? I thought everyone would be in the common room by now...?"

She understood exactly what I meant by that. It was Friday, which could only mean one thing for a Slytherin: party time!

"Well," she said with an inward sneer, "I got detention with McGonagall. Remember that essay about small object transformations? I thought she said it was supposed to be _half_ a foot long, but it was really supposed to be _a foot and a half_...at least it was detention and not House points."

"Too bad for _you_, though," I said apologetically. "I'll save you some pie for when you get back. See you later!" As we each continued on our ways, I realized I had actually been nice to _Pansy_! Perhaps she wasn't so annoying, once you got used to her.

I ducked behind a tapestry of Magda the Mad, which Trikkit had told me was a shortcut that led to the House. "_Lumos_," I muttered to the darkness, lighting up my wand. After about fifteen paces, I came to a fork in the small corridor. Left or right? The prefect hadn't mentioned a fork...

I thought for a moment, then took the passage on the right. A bat fluttered by; I tried to ignore it, and kept walking. Ahead, the corridor ended, but not with a plain wall. A stone grotesque bared a mouthful of sharp, pointy teeth at me, and, not surprisingly, spoke.

"Who're you, ge'l? And wot's th' password?" he asked in a rude, grating voice. I came to the conclusion that Trikkit's shortcut must lead _directly_ into the House.

"Emerald City," I replied haughtily. I had never cared much for grotesques. Even gargoyles were more polite.

The grotesque chortled loudly. "Tha's not th' password."

I racked my brain...most Slytherins used the other door, so maybe this one worked on an old password. "Polished sterling!"

"Heh heh! Nope!"

"Green machine!"

"Tha's not it, neither! G'bye!"

"What do mean, it's not the password? It has to be! I know my own password, thank you very much!" I whipped out my wand and glared at the grotesque, hoping it would feel intimidated. No such luck.

"Yer own password, ha! Know I've never seen a li'l ge'l down 'ere, so's how d'yeh s'ppose it's the--"

"_PETRIFICUS TOTALUS_!" a voice behind me bellowed. Suddenly, I couldn't move. My wand clattered to the floor, and I fell over backwards...

There was a sound of hurried footsteps across the stone floor, and I found myself looking up at a tall, long-faced woman wearing Hogwarts robes. A professor! O, great, what had I done? This was probably some forbidden hallway that Dumbledore had forgotten to mention. If only I had turned _left_!

The woman looked shocked for a moment, then sighed, waved her wand, and mumbled, "_Finite incantatem_." I found, to my relief, that I could move again. I picked up my wand and stood nervously.

"Now," she said, peering at me through black-rimmed aviator glasses, "I want to know why a Slytherin girl is arguing with my bedroom door guardian."

"Your WHAT!?" I shrieked. "O my...! I didn't...! I thought...! A prefect told me...!"

She blinked a few times. "Told you what?"

"Told me this was a shortcut to Slytherin Dungeon," I said miserably. "I guess I was supposed to go left."

"Ah, _that_ shortcut. Yes, that would have helped," she replied. "No harm done, though. A point to Slytherin for having the nerve to argue with a grotesque. By the way, what's your name?"

"Andromeda Zænidh, ma'am."

"Any relation to Andromeda Tonks?"

"Eh, never heard of her, ma'am."

"Hm. Righto, then. I'm Professor Vector, the Arithmancy Master. You might consider taking my class in your third year. Fascinating stuff, and much more precise than Divination." Immediately, I was sold on the idea.

"Okay, sounds good. I'll, uh, be going now. Bye!" Before I could embarrass myself any more, I turned and retreated down the corridor.

When I came to the fork, I had a sudden inspiration. "Nox," I muttered, and my wand extinguished its light. There, on the wall, in glowing green letters, I could see the words: "Slytherin Dungeon, that way." An arrow pointed left.

__

"Bloody lumos!" I thought. _"If not for that, I would have seen the sign."_ At the end of _this _hallway, there was a plain stone wall. Fortunately, it responded to the password, and a door opened into the common room. Almost everyone was there, laughing, chatting, and eating. Only a few students were trying to study, and it was mostly spell work.

"Hey, Andromeda!" yelled Trikkit jovially from across the room. "You found the shortcut, what took you so long?"

I narrowed my eyes and crossed the room to where she was standing. "It would have been quicker, if you had told me to go LEFT!" I shouted. Then I explained the whole situation.

"Oh-h-h-h," she said slowly. "I never even thought to use _Lumos_." Then she shrugged and continued wolfing down a gigantic piece of brandied fruit cake. "Just a stupid first-year mistake," she added, shaking her head. A bit of cake landed on my robes. "Sorry 'bout that..."

Seeing that I wasn't getting any real sympathy, I brushed my robes clean and sought out the other first years to tell them what had happened, in case they ever wanted to use that shortcut. I found that Millicent had known about it the whole time, Troy didn't care, Crabbe and Goyle didn't understand, Inge was too scared of the dark to use it, and Draco, Carol, and Joel were pretty impressed.

"It did occur to me," said Joel, stirring his hot chocolate with a butterscotch candy cane, "that teachers probably have their own rooms, aside from classrooms. I never knew where they were, though." He stopped to take a drink, and frowned as the rising steam clouded his glasses.

"It's no wonder they don't tell us," laughed Draco. "Can you imagine what a bother it'd be, if the whole school was constantly trying to figure out your password, so they could play a prank on you?"

"Yeah," agreed Carol. "If you ask me, there're already enough practical jokes between students. Teachers don't need any more problems to deal with. Speaking of problems, did you all know that--"

"NEXT WEEKEND IS THE TRIP TO HOGSMEADE!" interrupted Trikkit, standing on a chair. This was her favorite way of announcing news; if it was posted on the message board, not everyone would stop to read it. The common room quieted down quickly so she could continue. "_Please_ try to stay out of trouble. I want no repeats of that fight in the Three Broomsticks, alright? And remember, it's February, gentlemen, and if that doesn't mean anything to you..." she trailed off with a silly grin, stepping down from the chair.

Conversation resumed, and Carol grumbled, "Great, I forgot what I was going to say."

"Something about problems," I prompted.

"Problems...problems...nope, can't remember," she said with a sigh.

"O well," I answered distractedly. I was thinking about what Trikkit had said. Valentine's Day was soon. Maybe I would find out who had sent me that music box at Christmas...

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: I own Andromeda, her father, Trikkit, Carol, Joel, Inge, Magda the Mad (I think), the shortcut to Slytherin Dungeon, Prof. Vector's room and appearance, the grotesque, and about anything else not in the HP books. To my _extreme_ surprise, Rowling uses the name Andromeda in OotP, on the tapestry of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black; I DO NOT own Andromeda Tonks. Simmons belongs to Wildmage42, my partner in crime, go read her story, blah blah blah, I've said this often enough. Please review!!!


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Luck and Murmurs

Chapter Seventeen: Luck and Murmurs

The next Friday was St. Valentine's Day. During classes for the past week, we Slytherins scowled at the mere mention of candies, hearts, and roses. However, that was just to keep up our reputation. The attitude in the Dungeon was very different. Strings of paper-doll cupids hung from the ceiling, and one of the sixth year girls cast a charm on the furniture to turn it pink. Of course, the _boys_ were not nearly as enthusiastic about these changes, but they found it amusing all the same.

At least, amusing enough not to induce loud complaining. I noticed that Draco did look skeptical about sitting in an overstuffed chair, as if the spell might rub off on him.

Potions class that afternoon went well, as usual. Professor Snape scolded Potter for adding ingredients in the wrong order, and took twenty points off of Gryffindor. My potion was going perfectly, though. I didn't understand how anyone could be so incompetent at Potions class, especially when we were given the instructions. It was all very simple: read the board, do what it says, and be polite to Snape.

To no one's surprise, a nasty stench like burnt onions, soon filled the room. The Potions Master made a harsh noise in the back of his throat. "Whose potion is that?" he asked menacingly. "I do recall telling you dunderheads that this should be an _odorless_ solution!"

I stopped taking notes about the exact purpose of adding dried nettles. I knew it wasn't _my_ cauldron, but it was always a good idea to look up when Professor Snape was talking. Idly, I twirled my quill pen in the air, admiring, out of the corners of my eyes, the way it swished back and forth. No one was admitting to having the ruined potion. Perhaps it was Potter again.

Long seconds passed. Suddenly, Professor Snape smiled and said coldly, "Ten points off Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for trying to hide your own stupid mistake. Ten points to Slytherin, Miss Zænidh, for your continuing modest honesty."

Just then, class ended and the Foul Four left the room, dragging Weasley out by force so that he didn't slug anyone in the face. As for me, I couldn't have been more confused. What had just happened? Why had points been awarded for something I had done, when I hadn't done _anything_?

I looked to Draco for an explanation, only to find that he was smirking with barely contained laughter. "You should have seen his face, Andromeda!" he exclaimed. "It works every time! How do you pull it off?"

"_What_ works?" I asked, exasperated. "I'm in the dark here."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You know, whenever anything goes wrong, and you point your quill at a Gryffindor, so Snape--"

"I what?!" I half-shouted.

"Point your quill at a Gryffindor, as if you're accusing them. And then Snape takes points from them." Draco paused, seeing the disbelief on my face. "You mean, it's not on purpose? But, you've been doing that for...well, since the beginning of the year!"

I continued to blink in confusion.

"First it was Potter, then Longbottom, then Patil, then Simmons, then..." He trailed off. "Are you _sure_ it's not on purpose?" he asked. I nodded. "Damn! Some people have all the luck."

"Don't swear," I muttered distractedly, still thinking back to every time I had swished my quill around in Potions.

"And why not?" asked Draco indignantly.

"It's not befitting of a gentleman." Yes...every time I could remember, a Gryffindor had gotten in trouble.

He looked a bit taken aback. "Well...I suppose I could stop," he admitted.

__

Every time! I burst out in laughter. I had been earning House points without even knowing it!

Draco glared at me. "What? You don't think I can?" he asked crossly.

"Hm? O, I'm not laughing at you, ha ha ha! I'm laughing at all my, heh heh, _victims_!" The following fit of laughter lasted all the way to the House.

* * *

Dinner in the Great Hall was ending. A few owls soared in to deliver belated Valentine's Day greetings, or copies of the Evening Prophet. Every Slytherin received an owl-delivered chocolate frog from Malcolm Baddock, who was involved in a very long and complex fight with his girlfriend over who was more selfish. Frankly, I didn't care, but a bit of extra chocolate never hurt anyone.

Then, to my surprise, another owl landed in front of me. It was a beautiful eagle owl.

"Is that your owl, Draco?" I asked.

He was reading his Famous Wizard card, and only gave the owl a brief glance. "No, mine's lighter-colored."

The owl dropped a pink envelope in my hands and flew away. I examined the envelope; it had pink ribbon, a gold seal, and my name written in very fancy script. More than anything, it reminded me of a Howler. But, it was definitely _pink_, not red, and pink did not seem like a very aggressive color. There was a slight shimmer around its edges that was, if I wasn't imagining it, growing brighter the longer I looked at it.

Not sure whether I wanted to open it in the Great Hall, I pocketed the envelope and headed back to the Dungeon with everyone else. Trikkit and her gang of fifth years soon arrived bearing large trays of food and drink, and everyone found room for more sweets, even though we'd just been to dinner.

After a while, several older boys presented flowers to their girlfriends, and someone proposed a game of Spin the Bottle. Hiding her grin with a fierce scowl, Trikkit declared that that behavior would not be tolerated at Hogwarts.

"Aw, come on!" laughed Flint. "No harm in it, is there?"

"I am a prefect!" she shouted back at him. "And I say it's wrong! That should be enough for you!" The humor was gone from her expression. People stopped talking to watch what was happening.

Flint sneered. "Yeah, and you're a girl. I don't take orders from girls." I watched his hands clench and unclench at his sides.

"Oh, yeah, well we'll just see about that!" Trikkit drew her wand.

"Really? Who's your second?" demanded Flint.

A wizard duel! The group started murmuring amongst themselves. Trouble looked inevitable. I started to stand up, to leave the common room and avoid the scuffle...

"Wait," a determined voice broke in. I turned to see Bram Aurvail between the two. "Would you act this way in front of a professor?" His dark eyes flashed angrily.

Flint mumbled a resentful "no," but Trikkit just shook her head and blushed.

"Dueling is not permitted, in any forms. Those who disagree will face serious consequences. I will not hesitate to report anyone to the Head of Slytherin," he said loudly and clearly, so that the whole common room could hear. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's a treacle fudge calling my name." With that, Bram stepped over a number of students sitting on the floor, grabbed a plate from the buffet table, and filled it with fudge.

Conversation resumed quickly, and I sat down again. It was the usual arrangement: a group of Draco, Carol, Joel, and me, with Millicent, Inge, and Pansy in a cluster nearby, Crabbe and Goyle not too far away, and Troy...somewhere. I reckoned he was probably trying to figure out how to hold ten mugs of butterbeer all at once, or something of equal good sense.

"I was thinking," Carol said, "about that man, Hagrid. I heard he got expelled, and never became a qualified wizard. Why _does_ he work at Hogwarts, then? Isn't that sort of...odd?"

Draco snorted. "Blame Dumbledore! He trusts all sorts of low life, good-for-nothings. Though, Hagrid can't be a _real_ giant; he's not nearly tall enough." 

I shrugged. "Maybe he was expelled for being a part-giant, but he was hired for his strength."

"That's cruel!" said Carol. "Why not let him finish school, if he was going to be around anyway? Would Dumbledore really do that?"

Joel cleared his throat. "Hogwarts probably had a different Headmaster back then, someone who was very discriminatory. Then, when Dumbledore became Headmaster, he felt that Hagrid should get some kind of compensation for being treated so badly." We all agreed that this was a plausible explanation.

"I still don't like either of them," Draco mumbled to himself.

Presently, the party started to die down, and most everyone headed off to bed. Carol and I said goodnight to the boys and took the small flight of steps leading down to the dormitories. Suddenly, I remembered the mysterious pink envelope.

"Carol," I said, pulling it out of my pocket, "what do you think of this?"

She took it and examined both sides. "What _should_ I think of it? I don't even know what it is."

I sighed. "That's the problem, neither do I!"

"Why don't you open it and find out?" she asked exasperatedly, handing it back to me.

"Well, what if it's--"

"Glowing!" Carol interrupted. "Blimey, look at it!" Indeed, the envelope was shining, giving off a good deal of light. I handed it back to her, and the light died down.

"Obviously," she giggled, pressing it into my hands once more, "it likes you better than me. Go on, open it!"

Biting my lip, I broke the seal...a gentle breeze seemed to fill the room...and someone was speaking. I strained to hear the almost-inaudible words. Pieces of it, I couldn't hear at all, but I could tell that it was a boy's voice. 

"Andromeda...pity you can't come...Hogsmeade tomorrow. Did...music box I...Christmas? It...ignoring me, but...know who I am. You...paying more attention...Quidditch team. I...be honored...wear your colors...next match." Then the voice faded away, leaving the room still and quiet.

I was bewildered. Carol suppressed another giggle. "A secret admirer! You are so lucky, Andromeda, he sounds like a wonderful fellow!"

I pursed my lips. "But who _is_ he?"

"It's a secret!" she laughed. "Honestly, I have no idea. Except for one..."

"Who?" I asked quickly.

"Should I tell you now, or let him tell you later?" She grinned devilishly.

"Tell me, tell me, tell me!" I blurted out.

"Well, okay," she said, conspiratorially. "There's a Chaser on the Quidditch team--Diane Darmon told me he's a third-year--who's been eyeing you, if I'm not mistaken."

"And you didn't tell me?" I shrieked.

"Well, I'm not _sure_ of it," she added. "He doesn't talk to girls much, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't already have a girlfriend. He doesn't sit down at meals until you do, he stands when you stand...subtle stuff, y'know? But I'd swear he's looking to _you_ for cues."

Looking to me? Gads, that was ridiculous...

"What's his name, Carol?" I asked, still holding the envelope. "This doesn't have a signature." I knew this had to be the same person who had given me the music box; he had even mentioned it.

"Quentin! Quentin...O, I can't remember his last name," she said, disappointed. I reached into my desk drawer, where I still had the gift's tag, with its extremely fancy script. The first letter might have been a Q, if you looked at it _this_ way...

"Was it something that started with an M?" I asked. Or maybe that was a W, I still couldn't tell.

"Hmm...Morton, Mortimer, Mortema...Yes! Mortema! Quentin Mortema, that's his name!" Carol exclaimed, hopping a bit. I still had no idea who this was, but I was glad my "secret admirer" wasn't Oliver Wood.

"Well," I said slowly, "what should I say to him? Is saying _anything_ a good idea? I mean, he _is_ two years older than me, and he's sending me gifts like I'm his sweetheart, but we've barely even spoken! In fact, I don't think I've _ever_ talked to him, at all! Not even two words!"

Carol smirked mischievously . "Sure you have. Just tonight, you were coming to sit with the gang, but there were people standing in the way. So you said 'excuse me' to Quentin. That's two words!"

I groaned. "But that doesn't mean anything!"

"It meant a lot to _him_," she replied. "He bowed."

"WHAT!? That's...that's...stupid," I finished lamely. Still...he had bowed. If there was one thing that every guy could have more of, it was proper manners. And now, a gentleman seeking to win my heart!

I remembered a conversation I'd had with Troy, at the beginning of the year. Maybe Quentin would start holding doors open for me...

"Maybe he'll bring you something from Hogsmeade!" Carol laughed, interrupting my thoughts. "And by the way, do you have any handkerchiefs?"

"Yes, tons," I answered, waving towards the trunk at the foot of my bed.

"Well, you're going to have to give one up, if you want Quentin to 'wear your colors' to the next Quidditch match!" she said with glee.

"I think he was asking me to wear Slytherin colors--"

"Don't be silly! It's the latest fashion among male Quidditch players, to wear their lady's colors!" she said, as if quoting something. "I read it in _Witch Weekly_, but I think _The Enchanters' Attic_ also did a small spot about it."

"Sure," I said, not fully convinced. "Good night."

Carol giggled again. "Sweet dreams."

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: I own Andromeda Zænidh, Carol Adett, Bram Aurvail, Viola Trikkit, Quentin Mortema, Joel Shema, Troy Hatter, Inge Fernfrond, Diane Darmon, _The Enchanters' Attic_, the pink envelope, and all original events and dialogue. Chloe Simmons belongs to Wildmage42. All else is property of J. K. Rowling or Warner Bros., I am not making money off of this, etc. PLEASE REVIEW!!


	18. Chapter Eighteen: Detention in the Fores...

Chapter Eighteen: Detention in the Forest

"There he is," Carol said softly, darting her eyes in Quentin's direction. We were in the Great Hall, about to sit down to breakfast. "Just keep watching. Let some people sit down...he was one of the first to arrive, and, look, he's still standing! Okay, sit down now." I did so, and noted with amusement that Quentin took a seat only after a quick glance in my direction.

Draco looked at us quizzically. "What? _Who's_ still standing?"

"O, no one," said Carol. Well, it was true by the time she said it...

He rolled his eyes and snorted. "Right, like I'm supposed to believe that."

"What else would you believe, Draco?" retorted Carol.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it in confusion. "Eh...I don't know."

"Exactly," I said, and helped myself to a scone.

* * *

The day was drawing to a close, and the older students were just returning from Hogsmeade. Filch was selecting random students to search as everyone entered the Great Hall; he was afraid that every single person at Hogwarts had purchased a huge supply of dungbombs, for the sole purpose of making his life miserable. If only he hadn't insisted on blocking the doorway! Of course, Draco and I were at the _very_ _back_ of the crowd.

"Empty your pockets there, Johnson! Who knows wot you've got hiding. All sorts of con-tro-band, Mrs. Norris thinks, doesn't she, my sweet?"

__

"Stupid old git!" I thought. _"Quit talking to your cat--I _know_ that cats don't listen--and let us through so we can have dinner!"_

The line moved forward as Filch let a knot of innocent-looking people pass without inspection. Thank goodness, I could finally go in and sit...

"Hey, missy, where d'you think you're goin'?" Filch said angrily. It took a moment for me to realize he was talking to me.

"To...eat?" I said.

"Not without bein' searched for con-tro-band! Empty your pockets!" he growled.

"But I'm just a first-year, I didn't go to Hogsm--"

"Shut your trap an' do wot I says!"

Draco shrugged apologetically. I could see that no amount of arguing would get me anywhere. Impatiently, I reached into my pockets. Filch smiled grimly as I handed over my wand, some notes from Potions class, a hair clip, a handkerchief, and three Knuts.

"That's all," I said, as cheerfully as I could. "Nothing against school rules. Now can I have my things back?"

Filch squinted at the handkerchief. "Wot does those letters mean? It better not be some kind o' magic spell!"

"Those are my initials, Mr. Filch," I said slowly. "A. W. Z. It's not a spell."

"Ooh, I think we have a liar, Mrs. Norris!" Filch cackled. "A. W. Z. must stan' for "Albert Wilfred Zonko," founder of Zonko's Joke Shop!" He spoke the name as if it were evil. "This must be a _trick_ han'kerchief!"

"No," I said, even more slowly. "Those are _my_ initials. Andromeda Winter Zænidh."

"Shut your trap!" he repeated.

Draco somehow managed to look down his nose at the caretaker. "I'll have you know," he drawled, "that my friend is guilty of nothing. That handkerchief--"

"Belongs to me," a new voice interrupted. I whirled around and found myself looking up at a tall boy with bright blue eyes...Quentin Mortema!

"Wot's the meaning o' this?" Filch snapped. "Who're you?"

"A Quidditch player, sir, who respectfully pleaded to wear Andromeda's colors for the next match," he said, in a pleasant voice. He met Filch's eyes easily. "Just like in the good old days, hm?"

The caretaker was dumbfounded for a moment, then he cackled sharply. "This'un knows somethin' about the good ol' days, right he does!" he laughed, handing "my colors" to Quentin. I quickly scooped up the rest of my things, before Filch could protest.

"But I still don' trust you, missy An-drom-eda! Don't try nuthin' funny!" And with that, he shooed us into the Great Hall.

Dinner had already started, but I found that Crabbe and Goyle had saved seats for Draco and me, with the usual group.

"So," said Draco icily, "who _is_ that Quidditch player?" Carol bit her lip.

"What Quidditch player?" asked Joel, who was completely in the dark.

"Eh...Quentin Mortema," I said, feeling my face redden.

Draco scowled. "And you're letting him wear your colors?"

"Eh...yes."

Draco nodded. "Right, and you've known him for...how long?"

"Eh...as long as you have?"

"FIVE MINUTES!" Draco bellowed, causing the Bloody Baron to turn his hooded head in our direction. The blonde boy lowered his voice and continued. "Do you really think that's a good idea? I mean, yes, he is a Slytherin, but...he's..." He floundered for words.

"Older?" supplied Joel.

"How would _you_ know?" interrupted Carol. "You don't even know what's going on!"

Adjusting his glasses, Joel replied, "Well, no, I don't. But I do know this bloke isn't a first-year. So, he has to be older, right?"

Carol looked put out. "Right."

Draco muttered something inaudible and glared darkly at Quentin, at the far end of the table.

* * *

Slytherin's next Quidditch match, which was against Hufflepuff, wouldn't take place until the last Saturday of May. Draco was very cool towards me, to the point that he refused to work with me in class, or even talk to me. Carol knew how to keep her mouth shut about the subject for the sake of peace, but Joel was clueless.

"Really, Draco," he said one day in Charms. "Don't be such a git! I mean, what was Andy supposed to say, 'No, I hate you, even though I've never seen you before'? It's common courtesy! If he was brave enough to ask--"

"Bravery is for Gryffindors," Draco interrupted, sneering, and wouldn't hear another word from anyone.

After class, I said irately to Joel, "Thanks for trying, but my name is Andromeda. I don't call you Jay, do I?" And I stalked out of the room.

* * *

Quentin wouldn't even talk to me. He seemed too shy to say anything. Of course, he talked to Flint and the rest of the Quidditch team, and a few other older students. Granted, I never tried to start a conversation...but, what would I have said? _"O, hello, I was just wondering why you like a younger girl?"_ No. Everything I could think of seemed too forward.

A few weeks later, Draco and I had a terrible fight. I had stayed up late, reading in the common room. He had been wandering around the school grounds at night, goodness knows why, and he had discovered that Hagrid had been keeping a baby dragon as a pet. I told him to mind his own business, and the groundskeeper would eventually get what he deserved.

But Draco knew that the Foul Four were planning to meet someone at midnight, to hand over the dragon so it would be safe. He wanted to turn them in, to get them in trouble, and he wanted me to come with him.

I _told_ him not to. I _told_ him we would lose House points.

"Andromeda," he said, using my name for the first time in weeks, "think about it. There's four of them, and one of me. It's my word against theirs. If you come, too, our story will be more credible. We could take this to Snape, he'd be sure to--"

"_You'd_ be sure to be caught!" I screeched. "Someone else would find you first, and there would be no way to explain--"

"Fine!" Draco yelled furiously. "I'll go alone!"

"Don't go at all! This is a bad idea, I can see...wait!" He had already pushed open the door, and was leaving the common room. I dashed out of the House after him, hoping to talk some sense into him.

"Changed your mind already?" he asked smugly.

"I was hoping you would change yours."

His grey eyes flashed darkly. "_I _was hoping I wouldn't have to do this"--he drew his wand--"but I can't have you standing against me. LOCOMOTOR MORTIS!" A jet of light hit me, and my legs seemed to freeze together. I couldn't even pull my feet apart, no matter how hard I tried.

My eyes must have shown the betrayal I felt, because Draco looked slightly sickened. "Sorry," he mumbled, and hurried down the corridor. "I'll be back soon." I tried to hop after him, but after about three hops, I fell flat on my face. He was gone.

I managed to get to my knees, and finally stand up. What was I going to do now? I could have reported Draco, for hexing me, but I didn't want to do that to my friend. Besides, I wasn't supposed to be out of the House at this hour, either. I would have had to admit that I had also broken the rules.

I sighed heavily and leaned against the wall. I could have gone to bed and hoped the spell would wear off by tomorrow. I could have asked an older student for the remedy. I could have lied and said Peeves was responsible for it.

__

"Speak of the devil," I thought bitterly. The troublesome poltergeist had just flown around the corner, and he spotted me instantly.

"Hee hee hee!" he cackled evilly. "A wee Ickle Firstie, not in bed! Peeves doesn't approve, no he doesn't! Hee heeee!" He turned a few somersaults in the air, then hovered upside-down. "How should she be punished? Peeves can think of a few ways, hee hee hee!"

"Eh....You don't want to do that!" I said, more confidently than I felt. "I'm in Slytherin; the Bloody Baron will be mad at you."

Peeves jumped and looked around suspiciously. "His Bloodiness doesn't talk to Ickle Firsties, fibber!"

"Well...," I continued, "um...why pick on one person, when you can pick on four? Four Gryffindor, ah, _firsties_ are out of bed, with a dragon, on one of the towers. Sounds like much more fun, doesn't it?"

He laughed shrilly and zoomed away, but not before dropping a handful of pepper on my head. Rolling my eyes, I turned to the House door, but before I could say, "Emerald City," another harsh cackle erupted out of the dark corridor.

"Well, well, well," said Filch, hobbling towards me. "We do have a knack for getting in trouble."

"But--"

"No excuses!"

"But Peeves--"

"Peeves was here?" he asked angrily.

I nodded in reply. "And now he's off to torment Potter, Weasley, Granger, and Simmons, who are also out of bed."

"Which way'd he go?" Filch demanded, and I pointed up.

"One of the towers, probably the tallest one."

"Well, missy, that's awful nice o' you, but you're still in trouble!" He glared at me with his squinty little eyes, then rushed off to catch the Gryffindors.

A moment later, McGonagall turned the corner, dragging Draco along by the ear. So he _had_ gotten in trouble after all! He scowled fiercely as he tried to twist out of the witch's strong grip.

"Really, Professor, I'm telling the truth!" he declared. "Potter had a dragon, and he met someone on the astronomy tower to hand it off, so Hagrid wouldn't be arrested--"

"Quiet, Malfoy!" she scolded. "Can you explain why Miss Zænidh is also out of bed?"

He finally noticed me standing nervously by the door, and drew a long breath. "I can explain."

McGonagall gave him a look that clearly said he should do so immediately.

"She told me to stay in the House, but I left anyway," he said reluctantly.

I interrupted his explanation with a better one. "And then Peeves showed up." I looked hard at Draco, hoping he would catch on. "He grabbed Draco's wand and hexed me, then flew off again."

Draco took over. "He dropped my wand, though. So, I tried to un-hex Andromeda, but I didn't know the right spell. But I knew I had to leave quickly, to be at the tower in time to catch Potter. Apparently, I was too late."

McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line. "Why didn't you go inside after Draco left?"

I grimaced. "I was afraid I'd hurt myself on the stairs." She seemed to think about this for a moment, as if trying to decide whether the Dungeon really had stairs or not; evidently, she had no idea.

"What makes you think Harry had a dragon?" she asked Draco.

"He said so," he mumbled miserably.

"I see. Fifty points off Slytherin, for being out at night. And detention for both of you," she said sharply. "I was going to take this to your Head of House, but I would rather not disturb him at this indecent hour of the night. I'm sure he would have given the same punishment."

* * *

"I'm sure he wouldn't've," Draco grumbled, as we entered the common room. The Leg-Locker Curse had finally worn off enough that I could walk stiffly. "I bet Snape would've believed me."

"Well, he wasn't there," I said irately. "Thanks a lot, now I have detention."

He snorted. "So do I."

"Yes, but you deserve it!" I yelled, and half-fell down the stairs to the girls' dormitories.

* * *

Detention was a nightmare. Draco and I trudged to the school entrance, where Filch was waiting to take us out to Hagrid's hut, where our detention was to be served. Potter, Granger, Simmons, and Weasley were already there, as well as Longbottom. I wasn't sure how he'd gotten involved, but I didn't particularly care.

The old caretaker rambled on and on about the "old punishments," which involved hanging students by their wrists. We finally reached the hut, which sat too close to the Forbidden Forest for my comfort. Hagrid sat on the front steps.

"So, yer here fer detention, are yeh?" he rumbled. Filch nodded, smiling grimly. "Well, yeh ought to know, there's a unicorn what's been killed, and another what's been hurt pretty bad."

Simmons gasped. "Why would anyone kill a _unicorn_? They're so sweet, and pure, and beautiful..."

Draco snorted, and drawled, "If they're so great, why can't they save themselves? They're just a stupid bunch of duffers, is all."

The Parselmouth girl whipped out her wand in fury, pointing it at Draco's face. Potter and Granger held her back and snatched her wand. I didn't feel much like defending Draco at the moment, so I was glad someone else had. _"Even if they didn't mean to,"_ I added voicelessly.

"Righ' now, we need ter go in there an' find the wounded animal, and find out wot's went and killed th' other 'un," Hagrid said.

I just stared. Draco gaped, and said, "I'm not going in there! There're...werewolves!"

Filch grinned nastily at us, and told us there was much more than werewolves in the Forbidden Forest. Then Hagrid said that Draco would be expelled if he didn't serve his detention. I was quite upset by this, as I had been planning to bolt for the castle. Draco scowled balefully, and we all set out into the forest.

At the edge of the forest, Hagrid showed us a silvery liquid on the ground. I thought it looked a lot like mercury, but he told us it was unicorn blood. Simmons looked ill when he said this. I was merely outraged. I didn't care about some dumb animal; I wanted to stay away from the forest! What if something attacked _me_?

To top it off, Hagrid split us into two groups: Draco, Simmons, Potter, Fang, and me in one group, and Longbottom, Granger, Weasley, and him in the other. Wasn't this what always happened in Muggle movies? The group would split up, and then everything would go downhill from there. The presence of a large, vicious dog in my group did nothing to reassure my fears.

My group took the left fork of the path, looking for any sign of a unicorn. Well, maybe _they_ were looking, but I was having a hard enough time staying on my feet. Shadows jumped out at me from all directions...then, suddenly, a huge figure actually _did_ jump out of the trees! It was a very big horse...no, wait, it couldn't be a horse...it had the upper body of a man. Gads! A centaur!

While I was still beside myself at being scared so badly, Simmons curtsied to him and shook his hand. The centaur asked why we were in the forest at such a late hour (as if we were here often during the day), and Simmons told him that we were looking for an injured unicorn.

He gazed up at the dark sky, and his bright blue eyes caught the starlight. I was immediately reminded of Quentin, and I wished, irrationally of course, that he would come and save me. "Mars is bright tonight," the centaur said pensively.

"Yeah, well, thanks anyway," Simmons said, and the centaur galloped off to Hagrid's group. Everyone else stared at her. "Honestly, am I the only one who's read _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_?" Apparently, she was.

We continued on into the forest, which became darker and creepier. Potter seemed to have some sort of headache, especially near his scar. "O, look everyone, it's the famous Harry Potter and his _scar_," Draco drawled, sneering. I almost smiled. It was the best I could manage in the Forbidden Forest near midnight.

Suddenly, another figure staggered out of the trees, but this time, it was the unicorn! It was clear that it was hurt badly. Simmons and Potter crept up to it, but it backed away. "Get back!" Simmons whispered hoarsely to Potter, who did so. "They're not too fond of wizards!"

The unicorn's big, sad eyes looked about wildly. I crept up to it, behind Chloe, and we placed our hands on its side. Revolted, I found that it was covered with sticky, silver blood. _"Well, what now, know-it-all?"_ I thought, glancing at the Gryffindor girl.

I looked back at the unicorn, then screeched in terror as a dagger implanted itself in the animal's throat. As the unicorn fell over, a dark, hooded creature crawled out of the bushes, and Simmons screamed as well. It was drinking the silver blood! O, it was so-o-o-o disgusting...! I couldn't even move.

"AAAAAAAAAAARGH!" Draco howled, and took off down the path, with Fang close on his heels. This shook me out of my paralysis, and I ran after them. Before I knew it, we were out of the forest. Hagrid and the others soon joined us; they had heard the screams.

Presently, the centaur cantered out of the forest, with Potter and Simmons on his strong, broad back. Hagrid greeted the centaur, calling him Firenze, and thanked him. Even though I wasn't exactly ecstatic to have the Gryffindors around again, I never would have wished them death-by-hooded-monster.

Then Firenze went on to explain something about unicorn's blood keeping people alive, even when they're almost dead...I wasn't listening much, as I was about to faint from shock. Suddenly, Potter and Simmons yelled, "_VOLDEMORT?!_" and everyone else yelled at them not to say the name. Draco only rolled his eyes, and I screwed my eyes shut, hoping that when I opened them, I would wake up in the middle of History of Magic.

I opened my eyes slowly. I was still outside, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid told us that our detention was cancelled, and the group headed back towards the castle. Draco and I turned towards Slytherin Dungeon, while the others kept going upstairs.

"Well, that was an adventure," Draco said shakily. "If Father heard about this--"

"He would tell you to mind your own...business and not wander around at night!!" I hollered, narrowly escaping cursing. "If you hadn't gotten detention for us--"

"Then we wouldn't have found out that Voldemort is coming back, would we?" he interrupted in a low, intense voice. I stared at him, openmouthed. "Firenze said so, in case you weren't listening."

"But...that...that's impossible!" I protested.

Draco laughed mirthlessly. "Don't worry, I'll never be a Death Eater. D'you think I want to play servant to that ugly, hooded thing?"

It took a moment for his words to sink in. I had just seen Voldemort.

To Be Continued...

Disclaimer: I am not JKR or Warner Bros., or even Tom Felton. So, naturally, I don't own the Harry Potter books, movies, merchandise, etc. Draco's "AAAAAAAAAAARGH!" was taken straight from canon. Eleven A's! Count 'em, it's eleven! I DO own Andromeda, Quentin, Carol, Joel, and the "real" name of Zonko. Chloe Simmons and most of the Forbidden Forest sequence belongs to ff.net author Wildmage42. Read "Year of the Parselmouth," I command you! IMPERIO!! Hee hee, please review! 


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